


Firebirds

by antiochene



Category: Avengers (Comics), Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers - All Fandoms, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers versus X-Men done the right way, Fix-It, Gen, X-Men Crossover, cast of thousands, no one's carrying the idiot ball here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 176,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiochene/pseuds/antiochene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Phoenix has come to earth, but so have the Shi'ar. The X-Men and the Avengers discover that the road to hell is paved with good intentions as they try to overcome their differences and work together to save the mutant race - and Earth itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of potential in some of the ideas we've seen so far in Avengers versus X-Men, but the less said about their execution, the better. This is set sometime after Schism (for the Scott/Logan break-up) and Avengers: X-Sanction (for Nathan's resurrection). Beyond that, continuity will be pilfered or ignored at will.

Hope had lost count of the number of nights she'd spent here at this table, methodically cleaning and reassembling her guns. Her friends would probably be bothered to know how little she actually slept. Insomnia was supposed to be a bad thing, right? But she was still too used to snatching sleep an hour or two at a time. Maybe that habit would fade once she stopped dreaming about waking up and looking into the barrel of Bishop's gun.

_If I ever do._ That she still did was a confession that was never going to cross her lips. The last thing she needed were patronizing attempts to reassure her, or worse, solemn promises that she'd be protected. Hope just needed to feel like someone was watching her back - _her_ back, for her own sake, not because she was the flonqing mutant messiah - and for most of her time on Utopia, she hadn't had that. 

"So why can't you sleep now?"

A faint smile tugged at her lips as she looked up at the man in the doorway. "Because I'm watching _your_ back at the moment, old man," Hope said to her father, her tone mock-severe. "Speaking of which, go back to bed. You're still recuperating."

Nathan shrugged, coming over to sit down across from her. "I have a habit of not doing the things I should," he said. He selected a piece from the array in front of him and started to clean it - reflex, Hope thought. He probably found it as comforting as she did. 

Hope was hit by a sense of deja vu so strong it was dizzying. She'd watched him clean his guns just like this, across a thousand fires on a thousand nights. Admittedly, they weren't sitting amid rubble eating rats for dinner, but this still felt so right. So natural. So... completely unlike anything had felt on Utopia since she'd gotten here.

"So. Why can't _you_ sleep?" Hope asked, watching him. He looked so different, she thought again. She still wasn't sure how she'd managed to remove the T-O virus from his system, but clearly that wasn't all she'd managed. He looked _younger_ , like the Nathan she remembered from her early childhood. Maybe it was that simple, Hope thought. She'd wanted him back, wanted him to live so badly, but she'd known how much of his life he'd used up raising her, protecting her. Fleeing across the centuries with her.

So maybe the fire had known that too, and that was why it had burned away the years, not just the virus. The thought should have been frightening, not exhilarating. _Whee!_ was probably not the approved reaction to having channeled the Phoenix Force to heal and de-age your father. _But why shouldn't it be?_

Gray eyes met hers, and Nathan gave her that faint crooked smile she knew so well. #Your thoughts are loud when you're brooding,# he sent, the touch of his mind impossibly gentle. #But that's all right. I've spent enough time flat on my back of late.#

Hope felt her eyes sting as she thought of all those nights she'd spent on this island, staring back at the empty place in her mind where her father should have been. She'd never expected that hollowness to go away. The timestream devoured the people you loved, it didn't spit them back out. 

"Oh, yes," she said sarcastically. "A whole week! You'd think you'd nearly died or something..."

"Almost doesn't count, unless-" 

"-the explosive charge is sufficiently big," Hope finished and grinned back at him fiercely, still blinking too fast. They didn't do tears, or sentimental crap. This was what they did, and it was enough.

Nathan's lips twitched in another smile, and they cleaned the guns in companionable silence for a time. She could do this all night, Hope thought. Maybe they would do it all night, and then have coffee together and watch the sun rise. She liked coffee. Definitely one of the best parts of this century.

"It's all right to be afraid," Nathan said after a while. "You know that, right? You don't have to sit up at nights convincing yourself that you need to be the toughest person in the room."

Hope's jaw clenched, and her grip on the piece she was cleaning went briefly white-knuckled. "Don't I? I don't think they'd be okay with me cowering in a corner. They need me to be strong. Big brave mutant messiah, fixing the world for them. Or Maximoff's mess, at least," she said, sarcasm dripping from the words.

_Hate her. Damn her._ Sometimes Hope caught herself thinking of where she'd be if the Scarlet Witch had never let slip her _no more mutants_. A baby in Alaska, probably. Safe in the arms of a mother who wasn't a charred corpse, in a town that hadn't been turned into a charnel pit. 

"Angry's fine," Nathan said, obviously picking up on her train of thought. "Maybe even a little productive. So long as it doesn't take over."

"I _know_ ," she said, more impatiently than she'd meant to. Hope stopped, grimacing in apology. "I know," she said more quietly. "I'm trying. It's hard not to be too angry. At her... even at them, sometimes." She waved a hand around them, at Utopia and its people. But saying _that_ aloud just made her feel ashamed of herself. They were so worn down, so tired. Backed into a corner over and over, driven right to the brink so many times that it colored everything they did, everything they felt. They were so desperate. They needed so much.

She understood that. Sympathized with it. It didn't make it any easier when they all looked to her for a solution that she still didn't understand. That was still somewhere out there among the stars, coming closer by the day and bringing a thousand new questions with it.

"I just don't know what to do," she said, even more softly. "How to make sure I'm ready. I have to be ready, Nathan. It's too important." He understood this; she knew he did. From the stories he'd told her over the years, he might be the only one who really did. Because he'd been there too.

"It would help for you to know more," Nathan said after a moment. "Everything that happened with its previous hosts, what went wrong and what went right."

"It would," Hope said, her voice barely audible and her hands gone still. When she'd healed Nathan, it had been like being inside the heart of a star, the flames searing every cell in her body. Agony and bliss all at once. Right now it felt like a campfire, soft and warm and completely unthreatening. _Hah._ She couldn't imagine what the firebird itself would be like.

"You should have been hearing about this all along," Nathan said, sounding displeased in the way that usually meant someone was about to get their jaw broken. "We who are designated to serve greater purposes should at least get the ammunition we need to know what the flonq we're doing. If it's available," he added, more dryly. "It isn't always."

"You'd know," Hope said, just as dryly. "They thought I'd lose it if I knew. I guess I gave them the impression I was a bit too fragile, after you... um, died." They'd maybe even been right. She hadn't wanted to listen to reason much those first couple of months.

"Flonq that. I have more faith in you." Nathan set the piece down, gray eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. "All right. There's someone we should talk to first," he said, "although it might be awkward. What with my father and the hairball acting like scorned lovers."

Hope barely managed to swallow the laugh. "Yeah," she said, "you're feeling better." The swell of relief rose within her at the realization that he had a plan. Then again, this was her father. He _always_ had a plan.

"Mmm," Nathan said. "So let's figure out how to get in touch with your aunt without provoking a diplomatic incident."

* * *

She was alone in bed, Emma Frost realized before she opened her eyes. Alone in bed, _again_. She stretched, letting out a sigh as she gazed up at the ceiling. 

"I'm leaving you," she said aloud, into the silence. "I've had enough of waking up in an empty bed, so I'll be throwing you over at the first opportunity. Well..." She paused a deliberate beat. "Not the _first_ opportunity. I do have my standards."

A soft snort came from the direction of the windows. Scott was sprawled in one of the chairs there, staring out at the bay as if the lights of San Francisco contained all the answers to all his questions. At least he wasn't up working, Emma thought. There'd been too many nights like that lately. When no further response seemed to be forthcoming, she slipped out of bed and came up behind him, leaning against the back of the chair.

"Insomnia is not an endearing quality," she told him, laying her hands on his shoulders. The skin-to-skin contact sharpened her telepathy, and Emma's vision unfocused for a moment as images cascaded through her mind's eye. 

Predictable, a lot of it. Part of Scott's mind, as always, was reviewing recent engagements like a computer on an endless loop, analyzing strategy and tactics down to the last fine detail. She was used to that. She was also accustomed to the way Hope lurked in his thoughts, like a puzzle he could never quite resolve. It only made sense that Nathan was there too, after the events of the pat week. 

But the other faces were more of a surprise. Scott had been doing his best _not_ to think of Logan lately. It wasn't simple avoidance, Emma had realized. In Scott's eyes, Logan and the mutants who had accompanied him back to the school had removed themselves as active participants in their own defense. They were to be protected, but not consulted. 

The second surprise... "So," Emma murmured. "When _are_ you going to tell Rogers that Nathan survived? Or are you avoiding that particular awkward conversation?"

It had been classic Steve Rogers, that gesture of allowing Scott to take his dying son back to Utopia. Somehow, though, Emma suspected that the good captain's agreeable nature would be sorely tested once he discovered that the man who'd managed to take down half his team had not only been restored to health, but to his full and considerable power. 

"For now, avoiding." Scott's voice was dry, but she heard and sensed the tension underlying the words. "Although, given that he was determined to protect Wanda Maximoff from the consequences of her actions based on the fact that she wasn't in her right mind at the time, he can damned well afford Nathan the same courtesy." 

Emma sensed the flicker of darker emotions directed at the Scarlet Witch, but let it pass without comment. "Oh, darling," she said instead, her voice soft and mocking, "aren't you ever going to learn? Wanda's an Avenger. One of his own. Your son, on the other hand..."

"There are a few different approaches that Rogers could take once he finds out." The strategist speaking, this time, quietly and confidently. "There's a response to each. I'll be ready. The real problem, Em, is that I believe Nathan. His head's clear and he's still absolutely insistent that they'll come for Hope."

"Mmm." Emma rubbed at the tense muscles in Scott's shoulders. "Time travelers would be so much less infuriating if their predictions of doom came equipped with more of the relevant details."

"Oh, but that would be too much to ask." Scott took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. She could sense the headache he had brewing; she'd fix that, once they were through talking. Given the amount of stress he was under, it was a wonder that the headaches were the only physical manifestation.

"We have to be ready," he went on, the tactical computer part of his brain moving into projections now. Calculating possibilities. It was fascinating to watch (when he wasn't doing it during sex). "If Nathan's right about the Avengers, Hank and Logan will undoubtedly be lined up on the other side, probably dripping poison in Rogers' ear."

"Ouch," Emma murmured softly. There hadn't been the slightest trace of self-pity or resentment in Scott's comment. It was as if he'd stated that the sky was blue. "Scott Summers, you're becoming a cynic."

"A realist," he countered evenly. "If they see the opportunity to undermine Utopia, they'll take it. Then again," and there was a flicker of black humor in his voice as he continued, "I've planned for that, too."

Emma's hands stilled. She moved around to stand in front of him - and then, without warning, slid down into his lap. Before he could react, she took his face between her hands, gazing steadily into the eyes behind the glasses.

"Repeat these three words after me," she said evenly. "No. Preemptive. Strikes."

Scott smiled, if crookedly. Which had been the point of the comment in the first place. "If I need to punch Captain America," he said just as steadily, "it will be in the jaw, not in the back of the head. I promise."

"Good man. Now..." She leaned in to kiss him, and to call it a demanding kiss would be a significant understatement. #You're coming back to bed. Yes?#

_Now that you've finished managing me..._


	2. Family Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when your daughter's in the process of manifesting a terrifying cosmic force? Introducing her to your sister (who happens to be the last person who wielded the Phoenix without turning the world into a cinder) isn't a bad start.

In the end, arranging a meeting had been easier than Nathan had thought. When Rachel had first returned to this time period after he'd rescued her from the timetream, she'd wanted to try her hand at an ordinary life. It had meant concealing her return from the X-Men, which had meant establishing ways to communicate with her that were sufficiently secure. He'd been surprised to discover that those accounts were still active, although in retrospect he shouldn't have been; it might have been twenty years ago from his perspective, but it had been a fraction of that for Rachel. 

Less than an hour after sending the initial message, Nathan had found himself being figuratively tackled on the astral plane by a jubilant ex-Phoenix. Who had, amusingly enough, become a very angry ex-Phoenix when she found out what Logan had opted not to tell anyone at his school. 

#How could he?# Her astral form had pulsed with the force of her indignation, and Nathan had half-wished Logan was right there to catch the brunt of it. #If you were dying, he should have told me!#

#Well, you know. Me, dying, it's hardly a one-time event-#

#Nathan!#

#Relax, Ray. What is, is, and I'm fine now. Better than fine. But I do need to see you. Or your niece does, to be more precise.# He'd flashed her that hazy memory of Hope standing beside his bed, manifesting the Phoenix-raptor as she burned the T-O virus out of his system. 

Rachel's astral form had stabilized, the dominant overtone to her thoughts becoming contemplative rather than angry. #I'd heard about what she did to Bastion. This is a step beyond that. At this rate, she'll be manifesting it fully soon.#

That was all it had taken, that one shared memory. Rachel had seen it for what it was instantly; if he'd needed proof that this was the right course of action, that would have done it. #That's what I was thinking. So you'll come?#

#Don't be an idiot, Nathan.#

The rest of the conversation had involved arranging a meeting place. One of his surviving safehouses would do, he'd decided; it was tucked away in a particularly remote corner of the Upper Michigan Penninsula. A reasonable midway point, and quiet enough that there were no neighbors to disturb with potential lightshows. Rachel had promised to make her excuses at the school and meet him and Hope there the following day. 

Settling things with Scott had been somewhat more complicated. His father had been resistant to the idea of Hope leaving Utopia, although not enough to actually come out and say it. Despite having his full telepathy back, Nathan was finding it difficult to read his father. Scott's mind seemed to be some combination of a steel trap and a maze these days.

"Just be careful," Scott had finally said, surrendering to the inevitable with a sigh that had sounded decidedly tired. "Check in regularly. And _try_ to stay under the radar? The Avengers are not going to be fans of yours this month."

"The Avengers can go flonq themselves." He hadn't been able to help himself; it had just slipped out. "I won't go looking for trouble, Scott, but if it comes looking for me, or for Hope - well, I won't have to take the indirect approach this time, will I?"

" _Nathan_. Take the communicator I gave you." Scott's voice had acquired that oh-so-patient tone that Nathan knew far too well. "If trouble comes looking for you, you have your choice of teleporters. Exercise that choice. Think of my blood pressure."

"Why exactly are you under the impression that I'm so incapacitated that I can't set up a secure rendezvous?" Nathan had demanded, mostly amused but a little nettled, too. "Or is it Rachel that you don't trust?"

"We can trust Rachel." Scott had radiated absolute certainty at that, which Nathan, in retrospect, thought was a bit odd, given Rachel's presence on the other side of this flonqing 'schism'. "It's her suspicious-minded employer I'm worried about."

Logan again, Nathan had thought, hiding his irritation. That issue was going to need to be addressed at some point. "I'll be careful, Scott."

"You'll forgive me if I retain some skepticism. Just remember you're not fully recovered yet, all right?"

As if he needed reminding of that. Well, maybe a little. He was still off his game physically. He kept having coughing spasms, as if his lungs were still adapting to a lack of techno-organic infiltration, and a variety of aches and pains, some severe, in the parts of him that had been techno-organic and were now flesh alone. It was hard to keep that in mind when his powers were so strong, so steady, that it felt a little unreal. All those years of limited psi capabilities (when he'd had any at all) seemed like a vanishing dream. The temptation to do things he shouldn't, to push his limits to find out where they were, was almost impossible to resist.

It didn't feel at all like the last time he'd been cured of the T-O virus, either. That time it had been almost too much. There'd been no way to think, let alone act, with power underlying it somehow. Like he'd been swimming in a sea of it, and every movement caused ripple effects. 

Now, it was like a bonfire deep in his chest. Bright and strong and yet curiously quiescent. He didn't know quite what to make of it, but he knew who he had to thank for it.

Hope was sitting on the edge of the cabin's porch, swinging her feet as she stared out into the woods. He'd talked her into civilian clothes for this little jaunt, which had taken some doing. They made her look younger than her uniform - more teenaged girl, less wary soldier. It was entirely self-indulgent and not particularly productive for him to like that, so he kept the observation to himself. _Going soft, Nathan._ Maybe second (third? sixth?) chances did that to you. But he couldn't afford it, not when he knew what was coming. If he'd lost his edge, he needed to find it again. For her. 

"There," Hope said suddenly, pointing skyward. Nathan looked up and spotted the glow through the trees. He'd sensed her approaching quite some distance away; apparently his range was back too. 

Rachel descended, lightly as a falling leaf, and Nathan got his first good look at his sister in the flesh after so much time apart. He'd been in the future, she'd been in the far reaches of outer space, and it felt like forever since they'd actually seen each other. She looked good, he thought, pushing away from where he'd been leaning on the wall. Her hound markings were visible, which was surprising, but to his eyes and his telepathy both, she looked healthy. Even happy. 

The grin that broke across Rachel's face as their eyes locked only heightened the impression. "Hello, Hope," she said. "You'll have to excuse me for a moment." She floated up to the porch and Nathan grunted, amused, as he found himself being hugged. "Idiot."

"That's twice you've called me that in the last twenty-four hours. I'm going to start thinking you don't like me anymore." But he hugged her back, shaken by how brightly the connection between them flared, as if they'd spent no time apart at all.

#If rewriting the timeline didn't break it, I don't think anything will.# Rachel's voice in his mind was a little shaken-sounding as well, and she didn't seem inclined to pull away just yet.

#Here's hoping.# Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning his head against hers. That connection flared star-bright, images and memories and emotions flowing seamlessly between them as what would have been hours of verbal comunication was accomplished in the space between two heartbeats.

Only then did Rachel leaned back, eyeing him thoughtfully. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "You do good work, Hope," she complimented the younger redhead. "He only looks a little decrepit now."

"...uh, thanks. I tried?" Hope was smiling, if a bit nervously, and Nathan projected reassurance at her.

Rachel gave his arm - his newly flesh-and-blood arm - a squeeze and then released him, all of her attention shifting to Hope. "No, 'I tried' is what you say when you do a half-assed job," she said, her posture open and welcoming in a way that Hope wouldn't be able to miss even if she happened not to be borrowing telepathy from one of them just now. "I know I don't need to thank you for saving him; he's important to both of us, and that goes without saying. But you did something amazing here, and I want to make sure you know that."

"Really?" Hope still sounded nervous, but Nathan could almost see the knots of anxiety tangling her thoughts start to ease, the tension slackening. 

"I suppose you're used to people looking at you sideways whenever you do something that involves suspiciously familiar flaming bird-shapes," Rachel said briskly. 

"I'm more used to them trying to ignore the issue, actually," Hope muttered, her expression darkening. "I had to break into Scott's files to find out _anything_."

"Oh, and you got _Scott's_ take on the Phoenix, too. You poor thing," Rachel said, deadpan. Hope laughed and then looked surprised at herself for doing so. "I love my father, Hope, but... let me guess. Dry, factual, objective, and completely unhelpful." She waited for Hope to nod, and then went on, her tone more gentle. "Scott has more reason than most to... censor his own reactions on the subject. Me not blowing up the world wasn't quite enough to wipe away the memory of Dark Phoenix."

Nathan supposed it was a good thing that someone had finally said it aloud, but it still made for a moment of silence where the afternoon seemed to grow abruptly colder. But Hope didn't look away; she straightened, holding Rachel's gaze, and the determined look she wore only hardened. 

"I am _not_ going to turn into Dark Phoenix," she said forcefully. 

Rachel just smiled. "I believe you," she said, more quietly but just as firmly.

There was a long, tense moment. Then Hope smiled back, and Nathan was nearly rocked back on his heels by the strength of the gratitude emanating from his daughter. Just as he'd suspected, reassurance was worth a lot more coming from a former Phoenix host. 

"Shall we go for a walk?" Rachel suggested. "You can borrow my telepathy, and I can show you all the things that didn't make it into Scott's files."

Hope glanced at him, as if for permission, and Nathan nodded. "There's a lake about a half-klick to the west," he said. "Not a bad place to sit and talk." He glanced up to check the angle of the sun. "I'll make dinner for sundown. Something that'll keep, if you're longer."

"Okay. Yes, definitely. I want to do this," Hope said, back to looking grimly determined again. "I have to know. I have to be ready."

"I'll do everything I can to help," Rachel promised. #Poor little thing,# she sent to Nathan. #I understand why Scott got close-mouthed, but what the hell was Frost thinking? I'll have to give her a piece of my mind.#

#Are you going to be in the position to do that sometime soon, then?# Nathan sent back, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Rachel rolled her eyes at him as she followed Hope down the steps. #Oh, Nathan. Why do you _think_ I'm at the school? It's not because I had a sudden yen to mold young minds.#

Nathan kept his face straight with some effort. #You naughty girl.# Scott's absolute faith in her trustworthiness made sense, suddenly. 

#I may have taken Mom's name, but that doesn't make me any less a Summers.#

* * *

"Logan _stabbed_ you?"

Hope's withdrawal from the memory was so abruptly that Rachel found herself briefly disoriented. "Umm... yes," she said, refocusing on the girl with some effort. That had been a more forceful reaction than she'd expected to that particular memory. "Not one of the high points of our relationship. To be fair, I was out of control that night. He didn't want me to kill Selene and become a murderer."

"So he _stabbed_ you? He... didn't want you to murder someone, so he tried to murder you. Okay. Yeah, that makes all kinds of sense." Hope sounded rattled, and she was leaning back on the rock where she sat as if she was fighting the urge to physically recoil from what Rachel had shown her. "Is it just the Phoenix? He can't trust it, whoever it happens to be in? Is that why-"

Hope bit back the rest of what she'd been about to say, but the link between them was still active and Rachel 'heard' it anyway. _Is that why he's so ready to kill me if he has to?_ Rachel caught at the memory associated with the thought before it could escape, frowning as she mulled it over. It was Logan and Hope, some sort of rescue, and Logan's gravelly voice telling Hope he'd kept his distance from her just in case he had to be the one who stopped her. 

Predictable enough, given Logan's history. But there was more to the memory, something that _was_ a surprise. Hope... hadn't rejected the idea. She'd agreed.

_No... I don't care about quick. If it's that bad, just make it sure..._

Hope's words echoed in their linked minds, and Rachel grimaced. "Don't ever tell Nathan about that," she said abruptly. Hope frowned, looking like she wanted to protest, and Rachel went on before she could. "I'm serious, Hope. Never. I understand why you reacted the way you did. If I ever became a danger to the people I loved again, I'd want someone to stop me too. But your father doesn't need to know you ever had that conversation. Especially not with Logan."

"Why?" Hope asked slowly, her green eyes watchful again. "What don't I know about Nathan and Logan?"

Rachel only hesitated for a moment. The whole point of this meeting was that Hope wasn't a child and didn't have to be sheltered from the ghosts of the past. Whoever they were haunting. 

"Did your father ever tell you about Tyler?" she asked slowly. Hope shook her head, and Rachel went on, more softly. "Tyler was Nathan's son, born in the future. He would have been a few years younger than you when he was captured by Stryfe."

"Stryfe I know," Hope said with a shudder, going pale. The memories underlying her words were dark and bloody and terrifying. 

As the rapid-fire images in the girl's mind resolved into something a coherent narrative of events, Rachel shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving Hope's. "Nathan must have gone insane when Stryfe had you."

"I... think he pretty much did," Hope said, sounding subdued. "What happened to Tyler?"

"Stryfe tortured him. Twisted him. Tyler escaped, but he followed Nathan back here. He blamed him for everything that had happened. He... wasn't well. In the end, he declared himself Apocalypse's heir." Hope's jaw had dropped, but Rachel went on, knowing she had to tell her the rest of it. "Tyler tried to do something to Logan. It's complicated - Logan had lost his adamantium, and Tyler was experimenting on him, trying to turn him into a Horseman. The process sent Logan's mutation out of control. He went truly feral, and the first thing he did was kill Tyler."

"...oh," Hope said softly, and was silent for a moment. "That's why, then. I asked Nathan why he didn't come to Utopia to get help before he took on the Avengers. He said he wasn't thinking clearly. I thought he was just talking about the virus."

"Losing Tyler was hard on him. He couldn't blame Logan for what he did, but that meant blaming himself. For what had happened to Tyler in the first place, for not being able to help him afterwards... I think," Rachel said quietly, "that he's afraid of failing you, too." A bit of an understatement. From their telepathic sharing earlier, she knew Nathan was _terrified_ of failing Hope. Maybe it was time Hope knew that too.

The girl's reaction wasn't quite what she'd expected. Hope's jaw clenched, her eyes suspiciously bright. "He can be so _stupid_ sometimes. He couldn't ever fail me."

The love that radiated from her as she spoke was pure and fierce and determined. To Rachel's telepathic sight, Hope was suddenly limned in fire, red-gold flames billowing around her as if responding to that emotional high. She knew that fire; it was as familiar to her as her own reflection.

None of this made any sense at all, Rachel thought, frustrated. If the Phoenix was out there somewhere in space, approaching Earth with the intention of joining with Hope - and Rachel had shared Hope's impressions, knew they were accurate - how could it also be right here with her? _What is going on with this girl?_

It couldn't just be her mutation. Power-mimicry was all well and good, but it shouldn't work on cosmic forces. Not to mention the undeniable fact that this didn't _feel_ like an echo to Rachel's psi, already sensitized to the presence of said cosmic force. It felt like the Phoenix itself. There was something more going on here, something profound that they were _all_ missing.

The fire around Hope abruptly died, and she looked away for a moment to wipe at her eyes. "Sorry. I just... I'm not going to let him blame himself for any of this, whatever happens. You know, one of my first memories is him bleeding all over everywhere from the bullets he took for me? He put himself between me and everything that came for me, over and over and over. Not just Bishop. _Everything_. How many people can say that about either of their parents?"

"Not many," Rachel said softly. 

"I'm going to be what everyone needs me to be - I _am_ , even if it kills me. But the only reason I'm even here to try is because of him. I've been stubborn and dumb, with Scott and the Lights and some of the others," Hope said fiercely, "but that's done. Maybe I had to see him again to remember that he taught me more than just how to fight. He taught me _why_."


	3. Drawing Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel and Hope do the training thing. The Avengers catch up with Cable (sort of), and Tony Stark starts to put together the pieces of the puzzle that is Hope Summers.

"So how are you doing, really?"

It was well after midnight and Hope was in one of the bedrooms, having barely made it through dinner before lapsing into the exhausted sleep of someone who wasn't used to hours of intense telepathic contact. Nathan was glad to see her getting some rest - she hadn't had much, this last week - and it gave him and Rachel some time alone, which was also good. He settled onto one end of the couch, handing his sister one of the beers he was carrying, and smiled a bit crookedly at her question.

"Far better than I should be. The T-O virus took over completely. Spread everywhere." For a moment he let himself remember the burning cold, the pain exploding in every cell - and then had to make a conscious effort to relax again. He'd had so many close calls with the virus before, some of the worst during his and Hope's flight across the centuries. But repetition of the experience didn't dull the pain and terror of knowing that you were leaving the person you loved most alone when she needed you. 

Rachel reached out with her free hand, her fingertips gliding lightly down the arm that had been metal for so many years. The sensation was so sharp it was almost painful. "It must feel very strange," she mused. "I know you managed this yourself once..."

"Not like this. Back then the infection was only partial. This time there wasn't any of _me_ left." The pain in his chest was a phantom, but the memory was almost strong enough to provoke another coughing spasm. He forced himself to breathe regularly for a few moments before he continued. Rachel just waited, her expression open and her eyes watchful.

"I think I _was_ dead," he finally said, his voice tight. "Or close to it. I remember feeling my heart stop." There'd been voices in the distance - Scott, Rogers - but they'd faded into indistinct buzzing once his heart had stuttered and stopped. Hope had been holding him and crying. That much he did remember clearly. 

#Hey.# Rachel raised her hand to cup his jaw lightly, making him look at her. Comfort and reassurance flowed down their connection like warm sunlight, heightened by the physical contact. #'What is, is', remember? You're here now. The two of you, together; she made sure of that.#

"So she did." Nathan took a deep breath, tried to smile again, and took a sip of his beer to cover the fact that he didn't quite manage it. #Speaking of my girl...#

Confusion, frustration, perplexity. Those were the dominant emotions on their link as Rachel's thoughts turned back towards Hope - no, towards the Phoenix, Nathan realized. Rachel gave him an apologetic grimace. #I have no idea what's going on with it, Nathan. I'm sorry - I know that's not what you wanted to hear.#

#I read Scott's files too, you know.# The one covering how the Shi'ar had broken the Phoenix into pieces had been particularly noteworthy. Part of him had expected that to be the answer, for Rachel to tell him that Hope had a piece of it and was somehow attracting the rest of it to her. 

#No, it's not that. I'd be able to tell.# Rachel's memories flashed across the link, images of icy flames in the shape of a firebird, like a strange blue shadow of the true Phoenix. Not right, though; not _whole_. Decidedly broken.

Nathan mulled over the shared sense-memories, comparing what Rachel had felt in Shi'ar space while hosting that fragment to what he'd been sensing from Hope. Totally diferent, she was right. It was like comparing moonlight to the heart of a star. #Ah, well. There's one possibility ruled out, at least?# he sent back with a sigh. #Leaving us right where we started.#

#I don't know that even Mom would have had an answer for her,# was Rachel's reply, the words touched with a lingering sadness.

Hope was the Phoenix. But the Phoenix was coming. Nathan weighed the two contradictory statements yet again, trying to figure out what he was missing, what he wasn't _seeing_. "Are we being too linear here?" he murmured, troubled. "Is there any reason it can't be in two different places?"

"Maybe. It does like to make its own rules," Rachel sighed. Setting her beer down, she shifted closer, leaning into him. Nathan hesitated, then slipped an arm around her shoulders in an awkward half-hug. At the increased physical contact, the connection between them grew deeper, brighter. There was worry there, worry they both shared, but Nathan made himself take heart from the steady determination Rachel was projecting. 

"I'll do what I can for her," Rachel said softly, her hand resting over his heart as if reassuring herself that it was still beating. "I promise."

"I know you will. I never doubted that." Nathan grimaced. "How is _she_ doing, do you think?" he asked more uncertainly. "I'm not sure I see as clearly as I should where she's concerned..." He'd felt Hope reaching out to him several times today with her borrowed telepathy while she and Rachel had been working. She'd done it unconsciously, he thought, like any child reaching out to a parent for comfort. 

"Better than you might expect. But you've got to keep her grounded. Don't let her pick up your bad habit of getting lost in the mission," Rachel murmured, the link flickering with a hint of tired humor. "When you have the Phoenix, you can't afford to be _too_ driven. There's nothing more dangerous than a myopic focus on the greater good when you have that much power to wield."

"You do remember who you're talking to?" Nathan said dryly. "I have these issues, with myopia..."

She poked him lightly in the ribs. "Time to grow out of them."

* * *

#Not bad, but you shouldn't have lost your grip there,# Rachel observed.

All Hope could do for a moment was gasp and stare. _Wet,_ part of her brain gibbered, _very, very wet..._ That had been a substantial chunk of the lake she'd just dropped on her own head when her teleinetic construct had gone boom. And to add insult to injury, her 'teacher' was _smiling_. Just a little, as if she was trying very hard not to, but still! 

"You-" Hope stopped, taking a deep, unsteady breath and a firm hold on her temper. She pushed dripping hair out of her eyes to buy herself a moment. "That was... sneaky." An observation, not a complaint. A compliment, even. Nathan would have meant it as a compliment. 

"I know," Rachel said, more kindly. #But remember what I told you,# she went on telepathically. #The Phoenix brings with it high-order telepathy and telekinetic control on the molecular level. That's part of its nature, whether you're a psi or not. So you need to be ready.#

"Could we maybe try something that doesn't involve me drowning myself if I screw up?" Hope asked a bit plaintively, wringing water out of her hair. 

But Rachel shook her head. "Water's a lot safer than anything else I could have you juggling," she pointed out. "Besides, it's warm out here. You'll be dry again before you know it."

"Okay, point," Hope said, smiling a bit begrudgingly now that the shock of the unexpected drenching was wearing off. "Can we try a different construct, though? I was making myself dizzy, and I think that's part of the reason I didn't see your attack coming..." She'd been following Rachel's telepathic directions, winding flowing water into intricate spirals that had to remain separate. So many different 'strands', all going in different directions... it was beyond challenging. _Crazy hard, more like._

But when the Phoenix got here, multitasking was going to be a fact of life. Her thoughts would shape the world around her one way or the other, and the only way to not make a horrible mess of things was to learn how to _focus_. Rachel was right. She needed to stop whining about a little bit of water.

"I think you're tired, too," Rachel said, glancing skyward at the angle of the sun. "We've been at this for what, about six hours now? Let's take a break. You might want to take the sweater off at least," she went on, that smile still playing on her lips. "Stretch it out on the rocks or something."

Hope snorted. "Next time I'm getting you with the splash," she mock-threatened, pulling the sweater off over her head. The t-shirt underneath wasn't as wet, at least. 

"You can try. Actually," Rachel mused, "that might not be a bad idea. I don't know about you, but I could use a little fun." She smiled almost impishly. "How's this? Once our break's done, you and I will-"

She stopped abruptly, her head whipping around in the direction of the cabin and her eyes flaring wide in alarm. "Oh no. No, _damn it_! Hope, _stay here_!" she ordered, launching herself directly into the air from her sitting position, that rose-gold glow billowing around her suddenly, bright enough to blind.

"Rachel! What-" Hope fell silent, frantically trying to latch onto the other woman's powers again. But she was so tired, and Rachel was moving so fast, blasting back towards the cabin like a missile... _there!_ She connected for only an instant, but it was long enough to sense what Rachel had sensed.

In the next moment, she was on her feet and running.

* * *

" _He's down._ " Tony Stark circled the scene in his armor, brisk satisfaction in his voice as he kept an eye on the man lying sprawled a few feet away from the cabin's porch. Twitching, but not making any move to get up. Microscopic telepathic tasers were handy things when you needed a non-lethal takedown method for a psi. Luckily he'd had the time to load them into the armor.

" _Good._ " Logan's growl on the coms sounded angry, still. He'd already been in a bad mood, even by Logan-standards; Tony was pretty sure he'd heard him cursing in the background when McCoy had called for back-up. " _We're moving in. Stay airborne and watch our six._ "

" _Roger that._ " Tony kept a close eye on their target, too, just in case. The man had after all taken him and a number of his teammates down _hard_ last week. Yet here Cable was, off his deathbed and back on his feet. Tony was really looking forward to finding out how that had happened.

The armor flashed him a proximity alert an instant before the pissed-off redhead shot upwards through the trees and straight at him. Rachel Summers changed trajectory in mid-air, unpredictably enough that Tony's instinctive shot went wild. His second bounced harmlessly off a TK shield.

He didn't get a chance for a third. The light around her flared blindingly bright, and a telekinetic battering ram smashed into him so hard that he went spinning through the air like a rag doll, crashing through the trees to a hard landing, at Hank and Logan's feet no less.

" _Correct me if I'm wrong,_ " Tony grated a bit shakily, blasting himself back into the air and looking skyward, " _but wasn't this supposed to be a rescue mission for Ms. Hits Like A Truck up there?_ " 

"Rachel!" Hank exclaimed as he looked up, his face lighting up with relief. "You're all right! And... clearly rather angry," he continued worriedly, raising both hands as if to placate her. "Ah... did we misinterpret the situation?"

"Oh, you think _maybe_?" Rachel snarled, landing directly in front of Cable. Tony hovered, watching warily as her protective posture sunk in. Hank's question was obviously redundant, although that raised the new question of what _was_ going on here. "What the hell would make you think otherwise? I told you I needed a couple of days away!"

"They don't like your choice in company, Ray."

 _Shit._ So much for the tasers. Cable rose slowly, wiping blood away from his nose, but his eyes were clear and the golden radiance gathering around him was giving him an aura that eclipsed Rachel's, which was already hard to look at. Clearly, he was _not_ being shocked by the tasers every time he tried to form a thought. Before he did anything else, Tony rerouted more power to the psi-shielding in his armor. Better safe than sorry.

There was the sudden, familiar noise of Logan retracting his claws. "Stark," he growled, his voice very wary. "Hank. Stand down."

Tony risked a glance sideways at Logan and frowned at the way he was standing - absolutely still, as if he was trying not to startle the two psis. There was so much obvious caution there that the urge to ask him if he'd forgotten that Cable had declared war on them last week died half-formed. When he looked back at Cable, the other man raised one arm, palm-up. As if it explained everything. 

It had been a rough landing, even in the suit, Tony would tell himself later. That was the only reason it had taken him a full three seconds to notice a flesh-and-blood arm where a metal one should be. In fact, given that Cable should be a shiny metallic corpse right now after that dust-up on the freighter, there was a noticeable lack of any metal parts whatsoever. 

Nothing. No sign of the techno-organic virus. And Tony was certainly familiar enough with SHIELD files to recall that the last time this man had been cured of the virus, it had taken the Silver Surfer to bring him down.

" _And now I'm feeling decidedly under-gunned,_ " he said, more lightly than he really felt, lowering both hands and sinking back to the ground. Talking was definitely preferable at the moment, if Cable was willing to do it this time around. He wasn't making any aggressive moves, which already made this an improvement on their last meeting. 

Clearly Hank shared his sentiments about the virtues of conversation. "Let's... just take a breath here. All of us," Hank said a bit weakly. He was blinking at Cable's arm as if he couldn't believe it himself, his gaze remaining intent as it flickered back to the man's face. "Let me explain, Rachel. I was experimenting with Cerebra. We picked up Nathan's signature in your vicinity, along with someone else we couldn't identify." He frowned, his eyes shifting around for a moment as if seeking out that third person. "Well. We were understandably concerned, given the events of, um..." He trailed off, looking rather abashed as Rachel continued to glare at him. 

"So you come in guns blazing?" she growled. "Not acceptable, Hank! Not for a damned minute!"

Logan made a noise that was a little too derisive for a situation as tense as this. "Says the woman who ran off to meet with someone from Utopia behind my back," he growled heatedly. "Someone who attacked my team-"

"Oh, did I hold something back?" Rachel shouted at him, her face flushing as red as her hair and her aura brightening almost enough to match Cable's. "Forgot to mention key details? It's almost like I knew one of your family members was dying and neglected to tell you!"

" _...you didn't tell her?_ " Tony asked, and got glared at by both Rachel and Logan for his pains. He sighed. " _Okay, I didn't much like being blindsided last week, but come on, man. Not cool. They_ are _family, even I know that._ " Conciliatory, that was the tone needed here. Get the two angry psis settled down, maybe even apologize for the sucker punch. If the tasers didn't work, he certainly wasn't carrying anything else at the moment that would. 

Besides, Steve would definitely have preferred it if last week's shitshow had been settled by talking, Tony knew that much. Maybe it wasn't too late for a do-over.

Cable laid a hand on Rachel's shoulder. The young woman stopped, visibly forcing herself to relax, and the pair of them grew a little less painful to look at. 

"Listen - all three of you. I was out of my mind last week. Literally," he said bleakly, "I had a techno-organic virus eating my brain. You want to hold me responsible for what I did, I suppose you're entitled. But it does make you a pack of hypocrites."

"Who pulled the first sneak attack, bub?" Logan demanded, and the claws came out again. Tony grimaced. 

Cable stared right back at him. "Who protected Wanda Maximoff because she wasn't in her right mind?" he asked tightly.

"You're not Wanda, Summers, so don't avoid the issue-"

"You're right, I'm not Wanda. _I didn't kill anyone_ ," Cable said coldly. "And I could have, even dead on my feet. Right, Stark?"

" _The man's got a point there at least, Logan,_ " Tony said. " _He had me and Steve and Sam dead to rights. Let's just settle down and keep talking this out like the reasonable people we keep insisting we are, okay?_ " Odd that the Wanda parallel had come up, though. Didn't bode well for Avengers/X-Men relations if Utopia was still cherishing hard feelings.

"What I'm saying," Cable said, "is that I don't-" He stopped abruptly, looking off into the woods. Rachel reacted at the same moment, Logan an instant later. Tony looked in that direction, calling up longer-range sensors. 

"Damn it," Rachel muttered, "I told her to stay put-"

"Don't worry. It's just the kid. Hope," Logan said gruffly, looking back at Hank and Tony and retracting his claws with another _snikt_. "I've got her scent."

Tony's sensors confirmed it a moment later. Hope's headlong progress through the woods slowed abruptly, most of the panic draining from her expression. Cable or Rachel had just reassured her, he guessed. She came the rest of the way quickly enough, though, and went right to Cable's side, peering up at him anxiously. Satisfied with whatever she saw, she turned her attention to the three newcomers, her features settling into a stubborn expression that had more than a hint of anger to it.

 _Make that three powerful mutants who need to be kept in a friendly mood._ They knew so little about what the girl could actually do, after all. " _We did crash the family reunion, didn't we?_ " Tony said more lightly, letting his faceplate dissolve and giving Hope as friendly a smile as he could manage. That mess last week had started because Cable had been convinced the Avengers were going to hurt his daughter. He needed to make it very clear he had no intention of even thinking about an aggressive move here. "Or is a discount sale on time travelers? Three for the price of one..."

Unfortunately, launching a minor charm offensive didn't meant that the problem-solving part of his brain had shut down for the interim. Something went _click_ as the equation came together. One mutant messiah, plus her protector, plus one ex-Phoenix host. Add in the rumors from the attack on San Francisco...

"..wait a minute," he said, or started to. 

Rachel's blow was a love-tap in comparison to what hit him in the next moment. The air burned gold and he was slammed back against a tree, held securely no matter how much power he poured into his thrusters. The suit's peripheral sensors picked up Logan and Hank being similarly restrained. 

"I'm going to say this once." Cable's expression had shifted, gone absolutely neutral in a way that practically screamed 'I am controlling my temper very carefully right now, don't fucking test me'. Tony stopped struggling. Keeping it up would only burn out his thrusters.

"No more sneak attacks from me," Cable continued inexorably. "You have my word. I will keep my distance from the Avengers - until you come for my daughter. At which point, Bright Lady help you all."

"For heaven's sake, Nathan," Hank managed, somehow managing to look and sound more frustrated than angry, despite being pinned to a tree. "Where is this coming from? None of us mean any harm to Hope!"

"You can say that until you're bluer in the face than you already are, McCoy, but I know what's coming." The glow around Cable faded, and Tony felt the grip pinning him to the tree release, if slowly. Cable raised both hands, taking a deep breath.

"Now," he said more calmly, "we can continue this exercise in futility if you're all feeling particularly masochistic, but I'd really rather not. There's no point to it, and whatever Stark hit me with was unpleasant enough that I'd prefer not repeating the experience."

Rachel had taken Hope by the arm, removing her quite firmly from the center of things. "I obviously don't need rescuing," she said, "and let's be honest here, guys. He's not going to let you take him back. If you keep trying... well, you're going to have to go through me too."

"And I just spent the whole day practicing with Rachel's powers, so if you touch my dad again I'm going to kick all your asses," Hope muttered. 

Something told Tony that speaking up before Logan could form words would be a very, very good idea. "I can't speak for Captain America," Tony said firmly. "But detente's looking pretty good to me at the moment." He hesitated as he met those cold gray eyes, but decided to risk it. "Cable. _Nathan._ McCoy's right, you know. None of us have any designs on your kid. I don't know why you're so damned insistent that we do."

Cable just stared at him for a long moment. "Some day," he said more quietly, "not too far in the future, you're going to remember you said that to me. You may even feel badly that you're about to make a liar out of yourself. But at that point-" He shrugged slightly. There might have been regret in his eyes for a moment, but it was gone again just as quickly. "-I am not going to care."

And there was no doubt in his mind that the other man believed it the way he believed that the sun would come up tomorrow. Tony swallowed the urge to defend himself and his team any further. Either Cable was crazy or he was right. The latter couldn't be ruled out, not with a time traveler. Either way, they would cross that bridge when they came to it. This, right now, was over. Even if he had to sit on Logan to make sure of it.

There was a flash to their left. The blonde woman who stepped out of the disc of light looked around casually, assessing the situation and then lowering her sword. 

"You called for a ride?" Illyana Rasputin inquired, her attention shifting back to Cable. "Rather loudly, according to Frost." Cable nodded curtly, gesturing for Hope and Rachel to precede him.

"Rachel?" Hank frowned, looking suddenly unhappy. "You're... going back to Utopia?"

Rachel met his eyes, then nodded slowly. "For now," she said gently. "Tell Kitty I'll call her, and that I'm sorry for bailing on my classes. But my family needs me right now." Her eyes locked with Logan's, hardening again. "I may never forgive you for keeping this from me," she warned him, then stepped through the disc. Hope cast one worried look back at Cable before she followed.

"Summers," Logan growled, looking back at Cable. There was an odd note in his voice, though, something Tony wasn't used to hearing from the Canadian. Almost... regret? "Your father and I may be on the outs, but I'm still an X-Man. I'm not going to be part of any attack on Utopia. You've got _my_ word on that."

"Likewise," Hank chimed in hurriedly. "It's not going to happen, Nathan. I'll speak up for you with the good Captain - I'm quite familiar with the effects of the T-O virus. If your condition was that advanced, I can only imagine how difficult it would have been to think clearly." He hesitated, then shook his head, the wondering look coming back as he looked at Cable's arm. "How?" he blurted, almost unwillingly. "Who-" 

"Hope didn't feel like being an orphan anymore," was the quiet reply, as Cable stepped into the portal. Magik gave them a sardonic little wave and followed. 

Tony sighed as the portal closed, telling himself that it was okay to relax. "Well, that could have gone much worse, I suppose." He eyed Logan a bit disapprovingly. "You couldn't have, I don't know, _checked_ with Rachel before you decided she needed a rescue?"

Logan grunted. "Didn't hear you calling for sober second thoughts when you were talking to Hank," he muttered, eyeing where the portal had been. His expression turned pensive. "He was out of his damned head last week. I thought he might be using her as bait." 

"I'm glad you were wrong about that," Hank said with a relieved sigh. "I would have hated to think he was that far gone."

"He's so sure Hope's in danger from us," Logan said, scowling. "I notice he's being vague on the details, though."

"How many times do we have to tell the man we do not have kidnapping plans?" Tony muttered. "Do you believe him? That he won't try and ambush us again?" Logan was able to smell a lie most times. It wasn't quite as good as telepathy, but he'd make do with what he had.

"Yeah, he definitely meant that. I'll confirm it to Cap. If they're headed back to Utopia I don't think we want to get into this any more than we already have. I can already hear Slim laughing in our faces if anyone mentions the word 'extradition'," Logan said, then looked back at Tony and Hank, his expression darkening. "If we ever _do_ have reason to go after the girl, though... I think we'd have to put Thor out front and hope for the best."

"Logan," Tony said, unable to quite keep the frustration out of his voice, "I just told the man we had no designs on his daughter! So did both of you!"

"No designs yet," Hank said, more softly. "Who know what tomorrow might bring?" He sighed, flexing his massive hands and looking a little forlorn. "Besides, what I told him was that we meant no harm to Hope. What Logan and I promised was that we wouldn't be part of an attack on Utopia. That's not the same as promising to stay away from her entirely. I suspect he probably realizes that, too."

Tony threw gauntleted hands up, swearing as he turned away. A little tension release was safe at this point, he told himself. He counted to five, slowly, before he spoke again, and didn't look back at them when he did.

"Is she a Phoenix host?" he asked.

The silence was all the answer he needed.


	4. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan hooks up with an old friend and gets some inside intel on the Schism. He and Scott have a father-son talk that raises some important issues. And at the Jean Grey School, a father yanks his son out of school - and off the planet. People should probably be more alarmed by this than they are.

"Not bad for an old man."

Breathing hard, Nathan stared up at the ceiling, his lips twitching in a grin he didn't bother trying to repress. "Flonqing good thing Hope de-aged me," he said, the words unsteady with mirth as much as exertion. He tugged at the tangled sheets in a futile effort to straighten them. "Otherwise, that probably would have killed me."

"I said 'not bad'. Not 'good'." Domino propped herself up on an elbow so that she could watch him, the look in her violet eyes a mixture of affection and cheerful malice. It was at least a sop to his pride that she was still catching her breath, too. "But then," she went on mock-sorrowfully, "I suppose I should cut you some slack. You're convalescing, after all. And ancient. Poor Nathan..." 

She reached out to pat his cheek and he grabbed her wrist, snorting with laughter. "Horrible woman," he accused. "You didn't get in enough abuse last night?"

"I'm making up for lost time. Your shower big enough for two?" When he nodded, she bounced out of bed with a cheeky grin and an energy he could only envy at the moment. Nathan gave her a long, appreciative look as she stretched. Her pale skin was marked by more scars than he remembered - understandable, given some of the stories he'd heard last night - but she was still the Dom he remembered. Tough and gorgeous and perfectly capable of kicking his ass.

They'd already had a brawl of sorts last night, once they'd both had too much to drink and he'd told her about what he'd tried to do with the Avengers. _Note to self; remember to apologize for the broken furniture._ He dimly remembered Scott closing the door and saying to someone that _it's best just to walk away and let them get it out of their systems. Believe me._ He had the unnerving suspicion that it had actually been Magneto.

But by that point, Dom had been sitting on his chest raving at him about _stupid bone-headed stunts_ and threatening to put a bullet in his head to _reboot your half-assed excuse for a brain, since it doesn't seem to be working all that well!_ He was fairly sure she hadn't actually pulled a gun on him, but once he'd managed enough telekinesis to slam and lock the door, he'd been far too focused on getting her up against the nearest wall to care. The line between sparring and sex had always been a bit thin for them. 

"I'll go start the water," Dom said, running her fingers through her short hair in an effort to get it to stop sticking straight up. "And I had better feel you staring at my ass as I cross the room, or you are not having any more of my whisky for the foreseeable future."

"I'm convalescing and ancient, not dead!" he called after her, amused. The grin on his face didn't fade even when she vanished into the bathroom, although it did grow more contemplative. 

This had been a twelve-hour exercise in throwing caution to the wind, he found himself thinking. Not at all what he'd expected from their reunion. Dom had been away from Utopia for some time, off on some unspecified mission for Scott. Deep cover, Nathan had assumed, given the length of time involved and the fact that she'd been out of contact; he _had_ asked about her while he'd been in the infirmary. But with everything going on with Hope, pursuing the matter had slipped his mind entirely. 

Then Dom had blown into a training session yesterday like a force of nature and hauled him away for a "proper" reunion. Once the whisky bottle had come out, he supposed the rest of the night had been predictable. Old habits were hard to break. Or maybe it was just that he hadn't _wanted_ to break them? Being with Dom was familiar, even comforting. It made him feel connected again, as if that gulf of seventeen years and countless centuries had never happened. 

"My back needs scrubbing, Summers!" she yelled at him over the sound of running water. 

"Yes, ma'am!"

Sometime later, they were both showered, dressed, and drinking coffee from the machine he'd pilfered days ago as they sat together by the windows overlooking the bay. Domino had made a point last night of stopping by her room to grab a change of clothes - _because I'm too old for the walk of shame, Nate_ \- and so they were both perfectly presentable when Nathan sensed Hope coming down the hall. _Thank goodness for small mercies,_ he thought, trying not to wince as he sipped at his coffee. He suspected this was going to be awkward enough as it was. There was virtually no chance Hope wouldn't have heard about last night by now; Utopia's gossip mill was worse than the mansion's.

"Nathan?" Hope's voice sounded a little too cheerful over the intercom. 

Dom raised an eyebrow at him. "Shall I hide under the bed?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Nathan took a deep breath, though, before he hit the control panel with a flicker of telekinesis and the door slid aside. "Morning," he said amiably to his daughter, whose answering smile was a little tighter than usual. She nodded to Domino, but then went back to scrutinizing him a little more carefully than usual. _Oh yes. She's heard._ He foresaw a very awkward conversation later. "What's the plan for today?" he asked, deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room for now. They'd talk later, when they were alone.

"Rachel was thinking we should try those Askani exercises you were talking about," Hope said, holding onto her smile a bit determinedly. "She thinks they'd be a good follow-up to what we were doing yesterday. I mean, if you're not doing anything-"

A subtle enough jab, by his daughter's standards. "Sounds like a plan," Nathan said simply. "Half an hour?" He raised his cup of coffee in explanation. "I need to finish waking up."

"Okay. I should eat breakfast, too. Don't want to fall over like I did the other day. I'll see you in a bit." She paused. "Bye, Domino," she said, only a bit grudgingly, and proceeded to step back out of the room in as dignified a retreat as a seventeen year-old could manage. As the door slid shut, Nathan closed his eyes and tried very hard to pretend he wasn't listening to Hope mulling over the issue. Dom probably didn't _want_ to know that she was being compared unfavorably to Emma Frost.

"So am I going to wake up and find a horse's head in my bed?" Domino asked as she sipped at her coffee. "Or worse?" Her eyes were sparkling with the amusement she'd managed to hide while Hope was in the room.

"Don't make fun of me," Nathan said, not quite dourly. He was still in too good a mood to pull off dour. "Did the two of you get along before my untimely resurrection, or do I have to worry about that too?"

Domino shrugged. "Scott's kept me so busy I haven't had much time to get to know her," she confessed, and Nathan caught the flicker of regret as well as the unspoken _I should have tried harder_. "Not that she makes it easy for people to get to know her. Prickly is an understatement. Oh, don't get me wrong," Dom continued more lightly, "I like her. She's her father's daughter, and I have no doubt that you were annoying as all fuck and convinced you knew everything at that age, too."

"It's been a long time since she's had to share me with anyone," Nathan murmured, staring down into his coffee cup so that he didn't have to acknowledge Dom's questioning look. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell her about New Liberty and Hope's namesake. It had been so many years, but it still hurt to remember. 

"Well, you could reassure her that we're all about the casual sex?"

He didn't need to look at her to know she was being facetious. That was the problem; this was a little more than casual sex and they both knew it. Logically, there shouldn't have been a problem at all. For him it had been seventeen years, even if Hope had given him those years back. Maybe it had been only a fraction of that for Dom, but she'd moved on with her own life in the interim, too.

This should have been an exercise in nostalgia. It shouldn't have felt like... two magnets coming together. And flonq it, suddenly he couldn't stop smiling. This was ridiculous. It wasn't like Hope had de-aged him back to his teens, he really had no excuse. 

"I've missed you," he finally said, looking up at her. "I really have."

Domino smiled, her eyes dancing with amusement and relief. "Missed you too, oaf. How about this? You talk to the girl and reassure her that I'm neither going to steal you nor accidentally eat your head during sex. Then I'll go buy her some new guns and make nice. I hear she picked up your taste for heavy weaponry. Sound like a plan?"

Despite the banter, he could sense her determination to figure out how to defuse hostilities with Hope before they really got started. That let him relax and banter right back. "Any way this works out involves me being doomed, doesn't it?"

"Pretty much!" Dom laughed, slouching in her chair and propping a foot up on the windowsill. "Chalk up one more reason I'm glad I didn't go with Logan. Conjugal visits would have been awkward."

At the sudden shift in subject, Nathan eyed her for a moment, then told himself just to ask. It was as good an opening as he was going to get, and she knew him; she'd know he was trying to understand this flonqing 'schism' as a whole, not to question the decision she'd made. "What were the others?"

"The other reasons?"

"Yeah. Why not go with Logan? You spent all that time working with him on Scott's X-Force, and... well," Nathan said, deadpan, "this is where I pretend like I'm smart enough not to make snide comments about your taste in men." Even if he really, really wanted to. It was Logan, after all.

"Too kind. But to answer your question, what the fuck was I going to do at a school?" Dom snorted. "I mean, he took some pretty questionable potential teachers with him, don't get me wrong. But you and I loom large in the X-annals when it comes to doing non-Xavier-approved things with impressionable youngsters. I don't think Logan could afford to evoke the specter of our merry band of hooligans." 

Nathan couldn't help but hear the undertone of regret. It made sense. Domino had grown into the role of den mother with their X-Force a little more fully than she'd ever admitted, even to herself. It wasn't that she didn't believe what she was saying, but Nathan could still feel the wistfulness in her for the road not taken. 

"But for my pride's sake," Dom went on, more maliciously, "let's call it pique because I didn't get an invitation to join his _new_ X-Force." Nathan paused with his cup halfway to his lips and raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh yes," she told him. "His X-Force is still in existence."

 _Huh._ "Does Scott know?"

"I can't imagine he wouldn't. It's not like Frost is afflicted with scruples. Don't ask me how _I_ know." Dom waggled her eyebrows at him. "I have my ways. But when it comes down to it, that hits right to the heart of the reason I wasn't interested in going with Logan. I wish him well with the school, because he's right about Scott having gone too far with this 'everyone's a combatant' approach. Some of those kids were far too young or just plain unsuited. But," Dom said more seriously, "Logan's also pretending he can be both the headmaster _and_ the head of the covert assassination squad. 'Do as I say, but not as I do' doesn't generally work out long-term. Something's going to give."

"So you decided to stick with Scott." Nathan frowned. This added a few new wrinkles to the situation. _How many different allegiances is this now, Logan? How do you keep them all straight?_

"Don't get me wrong, Nate. Your dad's doing his best impression of a crazy man lately - seriously, I think he cracked about six months back and no one stopped for long enough to notice. Frost is probably holding him together with rubber bands and regular sex at this point. But at least he's being realistic. What you see around here is what you get. If something comes here and beats us - which is unfortunately more likely now that we're at half the pitiful numbers we were - that's one thing. But at least we won't beat ourselves by trying to have our cake and eat it too."

"You always did have a way with words," Nathan said, unable to quite repress a sigh as he sipped at his coffee. He'd been focusing so much on Hope these last couple of weeks, and Scott had always seemed to be busy elsewhere whenever he'd looked up for long enough to remember that they needed to talk. "We're going to need Scott to be sharp," he murmured, troubled. 

"When the Avengers come for us?" Dom asked skeptically. But when he looked up at her, the hint of mockery faded from her expression. "...you're really that sure." He nodded slowly, and she set her cup down on the windowsill, running a hand through her still-damp hair and grimacing. "Bring me into your contingency planning," she said abruptly. "I know you've got it. And there are times that a little good luck can make all the difference."

* * *

"Leaving? Kubark is leaving?" Hank rubbed at his jaw, frowning. "Did Ava'dara say why?" Kitty had shown up at the laboratory door with the news that the Shi'ar prince and his protector were departing the Jean Grey School as of this evening, but he found that he was having some difficulty shifting his focus from the analysis he was crafting for Steve. 

Unsurprisingly, the good Captain had been open to a policy of watchful waiting with regards to Cable and Hope, but he had requested a complete report on the Phoenix's past manifestations on Earth and an analysis of what they might logically expect from Hope's connection to it. Hank had delivered the former two weeks ago, but the latter was turning out to be rather more challenging. There were just so many possibilities to consider, and one always wanted to be comprehensive with these things...

"No." Kitty leaned against his desk, frowning. "Just that Kubark's father wanted him home - well, no, you know how Warbird talks. What she said was that the Majestor of the Shi'ar 'required the immediate return of the crown prince to Chandilar for pressing reasons of state.'" Her fingers tapped out a restless rhythm on the edge of the desk. "What a waste. I really thought he was starting to settle in." Hank gave her a tolerant look and she sighed. "Okay, you've got me. He's been as much of a brat as ever lately, but at least he hasn't put any of his fellow students in the infirmary or done anything _too_ ridiculous or dangerous. That's improvement, right?"

"You simply don't like the idea of one of our fledglings departing before you've made a permanent impression on his young and impressionable mind," Hank said fondly, more than a hint of pride beneath the words. Kitty had taken to the role of headmistress as if she'd been born to it. Not that he'd had any doubts as to how successful she'd be, but it was still a genuine pleasure to watch. "We will merely have to hope that Gladiator the Younger will take at least some of the lessons we've attempted to teach him back to the throneworld."

"I wonder what's so pressing that they need him back _right now_ , given that they were so eager to get rid of him in the first place. A few weeks ago we couldn't have bribed or blackmailed them to take him back off our hands." Kitty sighed again, sounding more frustrated. "To top off the lousy morning, Rachel called. She says she's sorry, but she'll be on Utopia indefinitely. Which means psychic defense class is off the schedule unless we can find ourselves another telepath."

"Ah. Yes. The latter is unlikely, I'm afraid. They are in regretfully short supply of late, telepaths." Henry's frown had deepened at the second piece of news – but then again, perhaps Rachel _should_ be planning for a more lengthy tenure on Utopia. It might very well be beneficial to all involved. Her time hosting the Phoenix force had been both lengthy and admirably free of globally destructive losses of control. With her mentoring Hope, perhaps this iteration of the story would have a better chance of a happier ending. "Well," he said, forcing his attention back to the topic at hand, "it is a rather intensive subject. Perhaps the children would benefit from a brief interruption in that particular field of study. Certain individuals might even manage to improve their science grade in the interim, if they put the spare portion of their attention span to use." He'd meant it as a joke, but Kitty didn't even smile.

"I don't know if I believe she's coming back, Hank," she said, looking resigned. She ran a hand through her chestnut curls, sighing. "Let's be honest – we both know that Rachel doesn't really like teaching. Most of the kids are terrified of her. I was thrilled when she decided to come with us, but I was never sure _why_ she did. I thought... maybe it was just to help me." She flushed and looked away, leaving unspoken how much that impression had clearly meant to her.

"Ah, Kitty." Hank extended a paw and covered her hand where it rested against his desk. Pushing away thoughts of Kubark and Hope and all the rest of it, he focused on reassuring his young friend. "Our disagreements with Utopia aside, there's no reason to feel you've lost your friend simply because she's attending to... ah, family business."

Kitty blinked at him, then gave him a grudging smile. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Well, one could make the argument that the Phoenix is the very definition of Grey-Summers family business," Hank offered, baring his teeth in an answering smile. 

"Henry, you're not as funny as you think you are." But she didn't look as unhappy as she had, which Hank counted as a victory. "Still, I don't see any reason why Hope couldn't have come _here_ to work with Rachel. She would have been welcome. Well," Kitty amended with a little frown, "I would have welcomed her at least. I suppose I shouldn't speak for Logan. But we'd have had words if he'd balked at the idea."

"A very righteous sentiment," Hank complimented her, his tone dry, "but I have a niggling suspicion that where our young mutant messiah goes, so does her father. Having Logan and Cable under the same roof again would be deeply inadvisable, and I speak as someone who lived through it the first time. Just imagine our bright young minds watching _that_ particular old feud being played out on a daily basis."

Kitty proceeded to look slightly ill at the thought. "You're absolutely right. Bad examples. The very worst." A moment later, a stifled giggle escaped her, reminding Hank that despite the responsibilities she'd assumed, Kitty was still quite a young woman. "Kubark would have loved it. You know, I really am going to miss him. He's an impossible handful, but he's going to lead the Shi'ar someday. It was kind of nice to think that I was helping mold an intergalactic leader."

"There are any number of reasons his father might want him back in Shi'ar space. The Imperium is still less stable than it should be," Hank pointed out. "If it's simply a case of Gladiator needing to make some sort of show of strength for the new dynasty, perhaps he'll send the youngster back to us when he's done."

"I did tell Warbird to pass the message on to him that Kubark's welcome back anytime." Kitty shrugged, frowning. "She said it wasn't likely to be an option. Actually looked like she regretted it, too."

"Odd. I wonder what's going on..." But Hank wasn't going to allow himself to expend too much mental energy trying to figure out what new and appalling twist Shi'ar politics might have taken this month. _That way lies madness..._

* * *

Scott had been surprised not to find Nathan outside in the usual place. He and Rachel and Hope had been spending most of their time training out on the bare rock, where accidents with telekinesis wouldn't do any property damage. But then, Scott reasoned, they'd been at it every day for the last month, often for twelve hours at a time. A day off was probably a good idea, especially given the progress that Hope had been making.

According to Nathan, she'd been responding particularly well to some of the Askani psionic techniques he was having to revive for his own use. Her skill at managing telepathy and telekinesis was growing by leaps and bounds, Rachel had reported enthusiastically. _It's uncanny, Scott. It's like the knowledge is already there and we're just helping her bring it back to the level of her conscious mind._ They'd been helping her develop a better grasp of her power-mimicking ability - _it's psionic, Scott,_ Nathan had told him, _just an unusual variant_ \- and to expand its reach. They'd even managed to figure out how she'd been influencing the Lights and anyone else who happened to be around her at the times she really, really wanted something. 

Hope's confession to her father that she'd figured out that it was happening and hadn't told anyone until things had gone so wrong with Kenji had triggered first a shouting match and then the telepathic equivalent of a screaming argument. Emma and the Cuckoos had complained bitterly about headaches afterwards. But the two of them had resolved it, of course - _although I honestly didn't know that Nathan felt that strongly about psionic ethics_ \- and Nathan had come up with a way for the Lights at least to shield their links with Hope. Apparently there was still the risk of her doing it unconsciously when she was under stress, despite the promise she'd made to her teammates after Kenji's death. Nathan had already been in the process of winning over Hope's friends, and handing them the means to protect themselves had just accelerated that. Within the last few days he'd even started training sessions that included the Lights, too. Scott wasn't sure what was going on there, but he wasn't going to interfere. 

None of it was a guarantee, Scott told himself, but it was all promising. Promising enough that he could leave Nathan and Rachel to it, and focus his attention on getting ready to deal with whatever the Avengers might wind up doing. Although neither that nor Hope was his focus at the moment. As he headed through the halls, checking various places Nathan might be, he got a few odd looks for the object he was carrying. Scott smiled faintly in response to each, but opted not to answer any of the unspoken questions. 

In the end he found Nathan in the gym, working with the heavy bag. _Should have checked here first._ Nathan had been pursuing the goal of getting back into shape after his near-death experience as doggedly as one might expect. He'd been hinting last night at dinner that a sparring session might do them both good. Scott was actually tempted, although that wasn't why he'd come.

Nathan stopped in mid-combination, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the weapon in Scott's hands. "How the hell did you manage to save _that_?" he asked, giving the bag one last solid punch and then coming over for a closer look. 

"Dumb luck," Scott confessed, and put the psimitar into Nathan's hands. Nathan examined it meticulously, a little smile of delight playing on his lips, and Scott couldn't help a smile in return. "It survived the mansion by chance. Then it wound up in the secure storage cache we _didn't_ lose when we moved out to Utopia. I forgot it was there, I'm ashamed to say. But I was looking for something else this morning and came across it, so I thought you might like to have it back."

"You have no idea," Nathan said forcefully, his grip shifting to hold the spear-like Askani weapon properly. His smile grew, and the amount of pleasure and satisfaction he was emanating was like standing in direct summer sunlight. Scott reinforced his own defenses a little, just to make sure he didn't start grinning like an idiot in reaction. "Rao and Nemesis say that the stress on my system of having my powers back to full strength is less than it should be, thanks to whatever tweaks Hope managed. But it's still an issue. This will help. A lot. It doesn't just amplify psionic energy, it _balances_ it."

"I thought so. I remember you explaining how it worked." Scott watched as Nathan stepped away to a safe distance, turning and making a few passes through the air with the psimitar. It really looked nothing like _t'ai chi_ , Scott told himself; it was just the sudden look of calm focus on Nathan's face that brought the parallel to mind.

Nathan paused, the psimitar held horizontally in front of him and one of his hands resting flat against the bladed end, which glowed a soft gold. "This is where I'm supposed to say something about you making up for all those lost Christmases, right?"

Scott snorted. "If you want to be trite, yes." He went over and sat down on the bench by the wall, well-satisfied by the morning's work. "So. Day off, I'm presuming?"

"Things got a little strenuous yesterday; Hope all but faceplanted into her soup at dinner last night. I took that to mean she needed the break. So I let her sleep in, and then Dom and Rachel took her shopping." Nathan gave a bark of laughter at Scott's skeptical look. "What? Dom shops. Even for clothes sometimes."

"I will have to take your word for it. Mostly because I'm fairly sure I never want to be a witness. In fact," Scott said, managing a deadpan look, "now that I think about it, I just hope San Francisco survives the experience."

Nathan swept the psimitar through the air once more and then brought it back to a resting position against his shoulder. The gray eyes that met Scott's somehow managed to be amused and watchful at the same time. "A number of our acquaintances would point to evidence of a sense of humor as further proof that you've cracked." 

"A number of our acquaintances don't think they _need_ further proof," Scott pointed out patiently. He'd fully expected to have this discussion at some point.

"True enough. But I know the sense of humor's been there all along, so the point's invalid to start with." Nathan's eyes went a bit distant, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. "Remember the time you and Redd and I took shelter from an acid storm in that old hydroponics bay? You started telling jokes around the fire, and she and I couldn't stop laughing..."

It took Scott a moment to think back, and the smile the memory provoked was almost involuntary. "I was trying to draw your attention away from the fact that the rain was eating through the dome, actually." 

Damn. How long ago had that night in the far future actually been? Nathan had been five... no, six? Add another several years to account for the rest of his and Jean's stay in the thirty-eighth century in their cloned bodies, plus all the time since, and another seventeen years from Nathan's perspective... _there's a reason I don't usually think about this too hard._

"I can't believe you remember that," Scott said more quietly. "That was a _long_ time ago." And this wasn't the direction he'd expected the conversation to go. He'd expected Nathan to quiz him about the falling out with Logan, about how he'd handled things with Hope in his absence. To challenge him about how he'd handled everything. Everyone else had taken their kick at that particular can, after all. 

"Found myself thinking about those days a lot while Hope and I were traveling," Nathan said simply. "There were some pretty striking parallels. Futuristic wastelands, madmen on our tail. It helped, remembering how many times we made it through situations that should have killed all three of us." He smiled slightly. "It's not so bad to have history repeat itself when it means your father showed you the way."

Except he'd had Jean for those twelve years in the future, where Nathan had been doing it alone, and for years longer. Scott frowned, swallowing past a sudden tightness in his throat. "I'm... really proud of you, Nathan," he said slowly. "I need to say that. I know it didn't turn out the way we planned, but you kept her alive. You made sure she was loved. It gave her a chance to grow, which is what she wouldn't have gotten here. I just... wish it hadn't cost you so much."

If they were different people, this was where he should have been apologizing until he was hoarse. For all the times he hadn't trusted Nathan before he'd sent him into the timestream with Hope. For not doing more to stop Bishop, for sending Nathan back into the future with X-Force during Bastion's attack on a suicide mission. All his many failures as a father. 

But Nathan would just have quoted the 'sorry has no meaning' philosophy if he'd tried, and Scott had stopped apologizing to anyone a while ago. Apologies were meaningless when you hadn't hesitated to make the decision that had caused the pain in the first place. It just struck him as ironic sometimes, that his own son was one of the very best examples of what Hank had thrown into his teeth before leaving Utopia for the last time. _Everyone suffers for my decisions but me._

Somewhere during Scott's reverie, Nathan had crossed the distance between them. He propped the psimitar against the wall, then sat down on the bench beside Scott. 

"I paid it gladly," he said after a moment. "Every moment with her was a gift, Scott. I just wish I could have given her more stability. A real home. At least she's got that now."

"Does she?" Scott murmured skeptically, before he could stop himself. But that wasn't how most people would describe Utopia. Even those who'd stayed.

Nathan raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you weren't doing this anymore," he said bluntly. "Isn't that the complaint? 'Scott's not beating himself up anymore, we barely recognize him-'"

"No," Scott said under his breath. "The complaint is that I feed people, children into the meat grinder without a flicker of remorse." He raised a hand, rubbed at his jaw at the phantom ache there. Logan had left him with plenty of more concrete reminders of their fight, too. _Just scars. I have plenty of those._

"Are they right?"

"No. Not without remorse," Scott said, staring at the mats at his feet. "But that doesn't matter. I do it anyway." There was no defiance there, just weary acknowledgement. Logan had been right about a lot of things. Scott had just decided that he couldn't let that matter either. Someday the stars would align just right and he'd finally be the one who paid, but so long as the job was done and the war was won, he'd welcome it.

Until then, he had work to do. 

"Scott... _Slym_." Scott's head jerked around at Nathan's use of the old name from his childhood, and he found himself trapped as soon as he made eye contact, unable to look away. He'd forgotten just how powerful a telepath Nathan was when he had full access to his powers. "Breathe," Nathan instructed softly and raised a hand, fingertips brushing Scott's temple lightly. All at once, they were linked. 

There were no words at first, just images. The Phoenix-firebird blazing amid the stars. Hope's face, smiling in wonder. Hope touching the Lights, stabilizing their emergent powers. 

Cerebra's screen, lighting up with countless mutant signatures. Like a starry sky, and more appearing by the instant, too many to count. Scott clung to that image with a desperate ferocity, wanting it to be real so badly that it hurt like a knife twisting inside his chest.

Restoration. _Salvation_. No more desperate fight to preserve their dwindling numbers, but a mutant race restored and strong, too many to ever exterminate. Critical mass. Mutant politicians and mutant scientists, mutant artists and mutant writers, rebuilding the identity they'd lost, the _culture_ that had died when it had just started to blossom. 

Everything that had been taken from them. Whole generations of mutants who never had to be soldiers. _Please._ His eyes were stinging behind the glasses and he didn't care. _Please let it be..._

#It will be.# Nathan's voice was calm, absolutely certain. #If we can get Hope to where she needs to be, get her through what's coming. This is the future, Scott. This is what she can give back to us. You were right about her. You were always right.#

 _You're sure?_ He needed someone else to be sure, too. The existence of someone else's faith, to help silence the whispers of doubt that sometimes still echoed in the night. 

#Yes. So is Rachel. You can trust us, Slym. Just breathe.# And his son's fierce golden presence wrapped itself around his mind, strength flowing down that link as if Nathan was somehow sharing energy with him. Scott closed his eyes and did as he was told, focused on breathing. There had been times lately he'd almost forgotten how.

He didn't know how long Nathan held the link. He just knew that he felt better - less tired, less tense - when he finally opened his eyes. Nathan was watching him, smiling slightly. 

"Still some battles to fight, General," his son said calmly. "So let the teachers do what they will. When we win and there are whole new generations to teach, they'll need to be in practice."

"And then we get to stop," Scott murmured, trying not to let the yearning for that day creep into his voice. He suspected Nathan sensed it anyway. 

"Then we get to stop. To rest. I don't know about you, Dad-" Nathan's voice was a little unsteady too, "but I'm looking forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next - the fall of Utopia!


	5. The Fall of Utopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain America tries to do the right thing. Not everyone on his side is convinced, and the Shi'ar Imperium targets Utopia - successfully.

"It's been a while, Agent Brand. Since we met in person, I mean," Steve Rogers said as he set a cup of coffee down in front of the head of SWORD and smiled slightly at the woman. Exercising the authority the President had given him had been easier said than done when it came to certain agencies; SWORD had been particularly ill-served by Osborn's tenure. Abigail Brand hadn't been precisely uncooperative since Steve had taken over, but she'd kept her distance. Oh, if he made a polite request or gave her a direct order, she'd oblige, but only as far as she had to. 

Recognizing that, Steve had made a point of only pushing her as far as _he_ had to. He wanted her to offer her cooperation more freely, but he'd taken the woman's measure early on and he knew it was a decision that Brand would have to make for herself. If they could manage to develop the sort of working relationship she'd had with Nick Fury, he'd be satisfied. 

Although even then, he'd have to keep a close eye on her. Her relationship with Nick hadn't been without its hiccups.

The green-haired woman smiled just as faintly, her fingers tapping lightly against the cup. "So it has, Commander Rogers. But given the situation, I thought it was best if we spoke in person. The Peak was contacted last night by one of our galactic neighbors," she went on, getting right to business. "The situation falls considerably outside the scope of our usual engagement protocols."

"Go on," Steve said, watching her closely. There were only a few ways to interpret that, none of them good. 

"You're aware that the Majestor of the Shi'ar pulled his son out of the Jean Grey School?" 

"Yes, actually. Henry mentioned it in passing a few days ago." If the 'situation' involved the Shi'ar, there was no way this wasn't bad news. The Imperium was still getting back on its feet after the war with the Kree, and even with Gladiator safely on the throne its internal politics were far from stable. SWORD's best analysts had slapped an 'approach with extreme caution' warning on the Imperium six months ago. 

"It should have been a warning sign." Brand looked briefly disgusted - at herself, Steve thought. " _I_ should have made the connection a week ago. The boy was removed for his own safety once they became aware the Phoenix force was coming to Earth."

"Damn," Steve said, quietly but feelingly. Brand wasn't the only one who should have made the connection. He'd read Hank's analysis half a dozen times in the last two weeks, and pored over the historical files at length. "They want the girl, then."

Emerald-green eyes the same shade as her hair met Steve's, and Brand shook her head slightly. "They want the girl _dead_ ," she said, her tone neutral. Steve straightened in his chair, but Brand continued almost implacably. "I'd have been down here hours ago, but I was busy trying to negotiate with them. The good news is that I made some headway. They're willing to launch a surgical strike on Utopia. It would mean minimal collateral damage to anyone who doesn't actively resist them. But the offer's contingent on us standing aside and giving them a free hand. If not, they-"

"Absolutely not," Steve said harshly, cutting her off before she could finish. She was about to pass on a threat he didn't intend to heed, so he didn't need to hear it. "Hope Summers is a teenaged girl. I won't sanction her murder on the basis of what she _might_ do in the future. Yes," he said, before Brand could respond, "I am fully aware that the Phoenix is dangerous. I even understand why the Shi'ar might _want_ to react like this. But that doesn't mean I'm going to allow it."

Brand looked... completely unsurprised by his response, Steve realized. "Commander," she said bluntly, "we're talking about a people capable of _attacking us with black holes_. If we refuse to permit the surgical strike, they'll come in force." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked on Steve's and her tone growing even more forceful. "You need to acknowledge that they're not being unreasonable. They have a much longer history with the Phoenix than we do. They know it's a danger to everyone, not just the Imperium. Besides, even if the Shi'ar weren't a factor, are you really willing to sit back and simply trust that a teenaged girl with a questionable background would be able to handle cosmic power?"

He would be lying if he said yes. Lying through his teeth, and Brand would know it in an instant. Steve gave her a long, narrow-eyed look. "There are alternatives," he said calmly. "I've been strategizing a few different possibilities. If the Shi'ar are willing to talk this out, lend their expertise-"

"Unless you've come up with a strategy that removes any possibility that the Phoenix can join with Hope Summers, I can guarantee you that the Shi'ar aren't interested," Brand said flatly. "Rogers, we're a backwater planet they've deigned to treat with a certain amount of respect, due solely to a handful of personal relationships that are no longer much of a factor in our favor. Despite what Cassandra Nova and Gabriel Summers did to them, they've still decided to give us a chance to avoid massive casualties. The _only_ question now is if we're going to be smart enough to take it."

* * *

"Hank, have you not had enough coffee this morning?" Tony asked, frowning at the way Hank was hunched over the console, growling under his breath. "Please tell me you're not actually worried about your girlfriend," he went on, coming over to see what Hank was so intent on. Code was scrolling across half a dozen hard-light screens, which suggested a systems issue. 

"I'm not concerned about Abigail," Hank muttered, not looking up. It didn't sound at all convincing. Especially since Hank had chosen this workstation, close enough to the conference room that he'd be able to hear any shouting. "I'm just... monitoring the latest systems upgrade at SHIELD."

"Because SHIELD IT really needs you looking over their shoulders," Tony said, pulling up another chair and eyeing his friend tolerantly. "Come on, McCoy. This is what we call pointless busywork. You're doing this to avoid worrying about what's going on in there." If he'd been asked, Tony would have confessed to a certain amount of curiosity himself. SWORD's crises did tend to be some of the most interesting, in the sense of the old Chinese proverb about living in interesting times. 

Hank sighed and waved a clawed hand. Half of the screens flickered and vanished, but apparently he wasn't ready to give up on his busywork entirely. "All right," he conceded, "I'm... slightly concerned about Abby. I haven't seen her since yesterday, and she was looking rather grim when she went into the conference room. Something was clearly worrying her, and she does tend to be rather... well, confrontational."

Tony had always found it strange that Hank, who was an amiable guy by anyone's standards, had managed to attach himself to a woman who preferred what could be charitably described as the 'steamroller' approach to her job. Maybe that was the attraction? They _were_ both very work-oriented. _Not that I have any room to talk..._

"Don't worry," he said briskly, figuring Hank could use a little reassurance. "She's in there with Captain America. I can virtually guarantee there will be no hitting."

The comment got an almost involuntary smile from Hank, but before Tony could exploit the opening the conference room door opened and a grim-looking Brand emerged. Hank rose from his chair, but she shook her head at him, as clear an unspoken 'not now' as Tony had ever seen.

Steve followed her out, and oh, Tony knew _that_ look. There might not have been any hitting or shouting, but that conversation had _not_ gone well. Steve's expression was just as stone-faced as Brand's, but Tony fancied he could hear his teeth grinding from here.

"Remember what I said, Agent Brand," Steve said curtly. "Continue negotiating, but make our position clear."

Brand stopped and looked back at him, and Tony knew he wasn't imagining the flash of disgust in her eyes. "It won't work," she said just as flatly. "But yes, Commander. You've made your position perfectly clear."

" _Our_ position," Steve snapped. Now he was staring her down with what Tony liked to call the 'Captain America is very disappointed in you' look. "The official position of the American government. We do not hand our citizens over to be murdered by offworld governments."

"Yes, _sir_. " Brand turned on her heel and left without further ado. Hank gave Steve a quick, apologetic grimace and followed. Probably to get her side of the story before she teleported back to the Peak, Tony thought and turned his attention back to Steve. 

"Don't think I'm not wildly curious as to what this is about, but before we get to that – do you really trust her to do as she's told?" he asked, as soon as he was reasonably sure that Brand and Hank were down the hall and out of earshot. "If she's all but calling you an idiot to your face-"

"Don't think I missed that," Steve said grimly. "I'm going to have to keep an eye on her. But damn it, I am _not_ going to stand back and let people I'm supposed to protect be killed because it's expedient." He shook his head, coming over to join Tony at the console. "At least she took Hank out of the room with her. One less complication for the next part."

"Which is?"

"Getting Utopia on the line. I need to talk to Scott Summers."

* * *

The sky above San Francisco Bay was a perfect, almost cloudless blue. Almost too beautiful to be real, Hope had thought the first time she'd seen it. The skies she knew from the future were ugly, hostile colors, green or yellow or nearly black. During the nuclear winters, they hadn't been able to see the sun at all. 

Right now, the beautiful clear sky above her seemed every bit as hostile. She stared upwards, wondering if there were Shi'ar warships in orbit, waiting to kill her. If they weren't in orbit, she thought morbidly, they probably weren't far away. 

_A week ago I thought I was going to be all right._ Training had been going so well, almost impossibly well. It hadn't been any less hard or exhausting, but she'd risen to every challenge Nathan and Rachel had set her. Frost had joined them for a session ( _Scott would like my take on your progress, dear_ ) and had actually _praised_ her, which had left Hope trying to pick her jaw up off the floor. 

Eight days ago exactly, she'd manifested the firebird again. She'd reached out and it had been there, as if waiting for her to call it. It had felt so _right_. The fire had warmed her, instead of burning. She knew it was only a start, that the Phoenix itself would be so much different, so much _more_. But that had been the day she'd really begun to believe she would be able to do it. She'd released the firebird and flung herself, laughing, into Nathan's arms. 

_You are going to be a sight to behold,_ he'd murmured gruffly, and Hope had thought her heart would burst at the pride and absolute faith beneath the words. It had blazed in his mind like the campfires of her childhood that had driven back the cold and the dark night after lonely night. 

_Going to be?_ Rachel had asked, laughing as well, and had come over to give Hope a hug of her own. _Let's try 'already is',_ the woman who'd become more like an older sister than an aunt had said warmly. _Mom would have been so proud of you._

And by then, Hope heard so much about Jean Grey, seen so many of Rachel's memories and Nathan's, that it had meant more than it should have to imagine the approval of a grandmother she'd never met. They'd celebrated that night with dinner out in San Francisco, her and Nathan and Rachel and the Lights.

The next morning, Scott had gotten the call from Steve Rogers, and everything had changed. The level of tension on the island, never low, had ratcheted upwards to an unbearable level. Every time she saw Scott he seemed to be on the move, checking Utopia's defenses or running drills or moving non-combatants to temporary housing on the mainland. That alone had told her how serious a threat the Shi'ar were. The decision had been made to make that the team and anyone else willing to help would make their stand on the island. Hope had agreed, for whatever her opinion had actually been worth. Her reasoning had been simple; if she left and tried to hide somewhere else, she'd only put more innocent people at risk. And she was so very, very tired of that. 

Rachel could barely focus during training sessions anymore. She was walking around _seething_ ; you didn't need to be a telepath to feel it, it poured off her like molten lava. Afraid to ask, Hope had made the mistake of trying to research Rachel's history with the Shi'ar in the database. It had taken her some time, but she'd found the file about the Shi'ar Death Commandos and the Grey family, detailing the massacre that had taken less than a minute to wipe out every member of the Grey bloodline except Rachel - and Nathan, who had been out of reach. 

Hope had read it, and then spent the next half-hour throwing up. She'd felt so ashamed of herself when Nathan had found her crying in the bathroom, in the midst of a breakdown like some fragile child who'd grown up so sheltered that she couldn't handle it when the world got ugly. But Nathan hadn't scolded her. He'd just held her, and she'd sobbed herself into exhaustion, trying to banish thoughts of alien soldiers appearing out of nowhere and slaughtering her friends, her family, just to get to her. 

It shouldn't be hitting her this hard. Logically, it shouldn't. She was used to people wanting to kill her. From her earliest memory there'd been Bishop, her living, walking nightmare. He'd stalked her and Nathan through the centuries and killed billions of people, wrecked the whole world to get to them. There was part of her that still didn't believe he was gone for good. 

But there was another part of her ( _a stupid, naive part,_ Hope thought bitterly) that had started to feel safe here. Or... safer, at least. A strange thing to say, when her life was threatened on a regular basis just for being a mutant living on Utopia, but it was different. It wasn't just her and Nathan anymore. They had allies, resources. People to rely on. 

People to care about. Which just meant she had so much more to lose. Blinking back more tears, Hope let her head rest against her knees and stopped looking at the sky.

* * *

It had been a difficult week for SHIELD's IT department. A simple systems upgrade (inasmuch as any upgrade of a system as extensive and complex as SHIELD's could be simple) had turned into a mess that would have had Nick Fury removing the heads of those responsible, probably literally. Commander Rogers was somewhat more easy-going, but he'd made it clear that he expected them to find whatever botched programming that was causing the random systems outages, and to fix it ASAP. 

It was small comfort that nothing had gone too critically wrong, although when the air conditioning had gone out at SHIELD headquarters during the hottest day of the year so far, the screaming had been both loud and sustained. At other SHIELD facilities, the fire alarms had been going off on a daily basis, leading to some seriously frayed nerves. Even simple everyday things that most SHIELD personnel took for granted, like biometric locks on security doors, had been affected. 

This morning, however, the outages abruptly moved from 'irritant' to 'potentially serious problem'.

"Shit," a senior technician sighed, drawing the attention of his assistant at his own workstation. "Data flow to Avengers Tower is hiccuping."

"It's what?" The junior tech gave his boss a dubious look. 

"Hiccuping. I don't know what else to call it. They've got whole sectors going blind over the Pacific - and damn, now it's spreading to us." His hands moved rapidly over his keyboard, and he swore loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone else working in the data center. "I know it's early, but let's get the section chief in here," he went on. "If the problems are starting to cascade into critical systems, we don't have a choice. We've got to do a full rollback."

"We probably made it worse trying a patch job," another tech said glumly, coming over to take a look. "Should've gone for the rollback right away."

"It's the chief's call," the senior technician said. "But if it's a choice between that and Avengers Tower calling to tell us we're all incompetents..."

* * *

"Status?"

The SWORD technician nodded in satisfaction. "Virus is active, Agent Brand," she said, glad she had good news to relay. The tech was a very senior agent by SWORD standards (which was to say, she'd survived working here for a full five years) but she'd neer seen Brand look quite as tense as she did right now. 

Then again, the other woman _had_ been stalling the Shi'ar for a full week using persuasion alone. She was entitled to look a little frayed. "I've been monitoring communications traffic between SHIELD headquarters and Avengers Tower," the tech went on. "They're definitely under the impression that this is related to the flawed upgrade. We were lucky with that; it's a useful distraction."

"Yes. Thank God for Earthside incompetence," Brand said crisply, and the tension in her posture eased fractionally. "Their communications?"

"The Tower should be down within two minutes. Avengers Mansion shortly thereafter."

"Good. Open a channel to the Shi'ar warbird. Tell them to stand by for atmospheric insertion on my signal. As long as they keep to the prearranged flight path, SHIELD won't detect them." Brand laid a hand on the tech's shoulder, squeezing briefly in silent appreciation, but her expression was impassive as she turned her attention to the orbital traffic control officer. 

"Keep an eye on the warbird," she told him, "but I want to know if you catch anything supersonic heading for Utopia. The Avengers and SHIELD may be blind, but we weren't able to do the same for the Jean Grey School. And one never knows," she murmured, low enough that the tech figured she hadn't meant to be overheard. "There are no atheists in foxholes."

* * *

The Shi'ar Death Commandos were a formidable force, every bit as competent as the Imperial Guard. They took on the missions that needed to be covert, the ones that were too politically sensitive for their more famous counterparts. A fallen Death Commando, like a fallen Guardsman, would be replaced by another member of their race. Very few of the Commandos who had taken part in that first attack on the Grey family had survived the chaos of Vulcan's reign and the Kree War. But veterans and newcomers alike, all members of the team sent to Earth had been fully briefed on what they could expect to face. 

Utopia would be no easy target. It was home to the most dangerous group of X-Men, the so-called Extinction Team. While waiting out that interminable week in lunar orbit, some of the younger Commmandos had passed the time and kept up morale by claiming particular targets for their own. There had been a great debate over who would have the honor to face Magneto, in particular. 

Young or seasoned, the Commandos were all looking ahead to the mission with great anticipation. They would be facing worthy opponents in an unimpeachable cause; there were few missions more honorable than protecting the universe against the threat of the Phoenix Force. Once more, the honor belonged to them. _And we'll never let the Guard forget it!_ the team's new Warskrull had roared as they'd taken up position on the teleportation pad. 

They had expected a fight. They had not expected to take their first casualty less than a second after teleporting in. 

Their marksman had time only to begin to scream before the noise was cut off in a choked gurgle as the torso of his armor contracted, crushing his heart and lungs. Electromagnetic energy crackled around the clenched fist of Erik Lehnsherr, who gestured sharply, and the dead Commando's corpse flew sideways, smashing his two companions into the wall. 

"Metal armor. Foolish," the Master of Magnetism said coldly. The two Commandos had less than a moment to react before their dead comrade's armor was peeling away from the corpse in razor-edged strips that twisted into rippled daggers and impaled them through every vital organ they possessed.

 _Cyclops,_ Magneto thought, turning away from the two aliens pinned to the wall and twitching as they bled out, _three down. But only three._

#They scattered their teleportational coordinates,# was the tense reply from Scott, boosted by Emma's telepathy. #I was expecting that. Get to the beach and back up the team there.#

_Understood._

* * *

James Proudstar drove one of his vibranium knives through the throat of his opponent, then kicked the dying bird-like alien away. Its enormous wings spasmed as it fell, one striking him heavily enough that he staggered sideways. It didn't break his skin, of course, but he certainly felt the hit. 

Regaining his balance, he turned to find another target. As he looked across the hangar, his blood turned to ice as he saw Tabitha stumble and fall. The glow faded from her hands as blood spurted from her slashed throat, and the mantis-like Commando behind her drove one of its other blades downwards, straight through her chest. A scream of rage erupted from Warpath as he saw one of his oldest friends die, and he launched himself across the hangar, nothing in his mind except the image of one of his knives taking off the insectoid's head. 

Before he'd gone ten steps, he ran into what felt like an invisible brick wall. In his fury, he slammed his fists into it, snarling, in the instant before common sense kicked in and he tried to find an end, or even just an edge to it. But then the gas was filling the bubble that had enclosed him, searing the flesh from his bones, and he was screaming again, this time in agony.

* * *

Blow after blow slammed into the Warskrull's body, coming so fast and furious that he couldn't shift – not to take on another form, not even to repair the damage being done to his body. He had always taken great pride in his strength, and had seen his selection as a Death Commando as a foregone conclusion. He had never expected to face an opponent who could take him apart in less than a minute.

"You are a pitiful thing." The Warskrull fell to his knees, coughing up blood and unable to do more than raise its hand feebly in defense as the king of Atlantis loomed over him, those narrowed eyes burning with rage and contempt. "A pitiful murderer of children. It disgusts me to have to sully my hands with you," Namor spat, and the Atlantean's fist was the last thing the Warskrull saw. 

Namor turned, blood dripping from the hand that had just caved in the alien's skull. Behind him, Laurie was weeping as she tried desperately to resuscitate what was unmistakably a corpse. Frost had directed him here to the mess hall, telling him that two of the children had been cornered. As fast as he was, he had been too late. 

"Transonic. _Laurie_ ," he said more sharply when she ignored him. She continued her futile efforts, and he strode across the distance between them, seizing her arm and hauling her up and away from the boy Gabriel's body. She screamed and tried to resist, and Namor reminded himself that it was not appropriate to slap her, especially given the mood he was in. He was as likely to take her head off by accident as he was to jar her from her hysterics. 

"He is gone, child," Namor said, forcefully but not unkindly, and gave her a little shake for emphasis. "Grieve later. Right now, you need to get to shelter. Go to the infirmary." If the worst happened, she would be in a place to be safely evacuated.

But Laurie choked back her sobs and tried to wrench her arm away, glaring at him. "No," she hissed, tears still pouring down her cheeks. "I'm not going to hide. I'm going to _kill_ them!"

Namor found himself pleasantly surprised by the level of rage in the young woman's gaze. She had always struck him as an intelligent child, but he wouldn't have imagined that she had this in her. So much the better that she did. 

"Good," he said curtly. "Then come with me, and we will see about killing them all."

* * *

The Death Commando known as Hive stood over the body of its latest victim, calling back the insects that constituted its humanoid form. It observed that the human's powers seemed to have been connected to the markings on his skin. The primitive's ability to defend himself had vanished quickly enough once Hive had begun to consume his flesh. 

"I suppose you think that was terribly impressive." 

Hive formed eyes to observe the human approaching it now. A female, yellow-haired and bearing a sword. Illyana Rasputin, Hive identified instantly. Among the most dangerous of their potential targets. 

Hive sent a cloud of insects at her - and she merely waved a hand. A portal yawned open directly behind the Commando, and Hive reeled backwards, losing internal cohesion as force tore at it, pulling every piece of it down into the stinking, burning depths of a place that was most definitely _not_ Earth. Even the insects farthest away, mere feet from the human, were caught in the undertow. 

Hive was not one, but many. And every One of the Many began to scream. 

"There are things where you're going that will consider you a lovely midmorning snack," Magik said coldly. "Enjoy."

* * *

"For future reference, Braddock," came a voice from above her as Betsy retched and wheezed, gasping for air now that her lungs were clear, "don't try and attack a gaseous being with a katana. It's less than effective." Cable reached down and hauling her back to her feet. 

"Didn't realize," Betsy said hoarsely, "not until I stabbed it." She'd struck true, but then the Commando had dissolved and flowed down her throat before she'd managed a TK shield. It had been well along the way to suffocating her before she'd felt its awareness vibrate in agony as it abruptly retreated.

She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, and saw that all around them, the rocks were splashed with an irisdescent green... ooze, for lack of a better word. Betsy realized that it had to be what was left of the alien after Cable had telekinetically pulled it from her lungs. _Interesting trick, that one. I'll have to ask him later how he managed it..._

Something exploded on the west side of the island, near the hangar – _fuel tanks?_ An instant later, they heard the familiar sound of Scott's optic blasts, four in quick succession. Betsy took a shaky breath and tried to center herself, glancing skyward. But the sky above was choked by black clouds, lightning slashing downwards at regular intervals and thunder rumbling almost continuously. Ororo at work, she thought. 

#Shake it off, Braddock.# Cable's grip on her arm tightened, enough to be painful, and she looked up at him. Their minds touched and tactical data flowed between them in an instant. She saw Hope and Rachel at the forefront of his mind, a father's concern struggling with a tactician's priorities. She also saw where she was needed. 

Then he was releasing her arm and running towards the east end of the island. Betsy swallowed, spitting to try and clear her mouth of the lingering foul taste. Then she bent to pick up her katana, and ran. 

#Surge! Pixie!# she projected ahead of her. #Hold on, I'm coming.#

* * *

In the Cerebra Chamber, the Stepford Cuckoos sat so close to each other that their helmeted heads all but touched. They were using the great machine not for its primary task of detecting mutants, but to enhance their telepathy and keep track of the battle. With Ms. Frost out there in the midst of the battle, she needed the overview only they could give her.

The disappearance of certain mutant signatures familiar to them was troubling, but priorities must be observed. Far more would die if they did not feed Ms. Frost the tactical data she and Cyclops needed. Focus had to be maintained. There was only one signature they were to keep in sight at all times, and that was Hope. Any direct threat to her was the priority. 

But there was a flaw in that logic, the Cuckoos realized. A direct threat to all was a threat to Hope as well; the two could not be separated. And as they reached out to touch the minds of the Shi'ar warbird's crew, such a threat was all too easily detected.

#This is not good,# Celeste said. #It would appear-#

#-that the warbird realizes the Commandos are in difficulty,# Mindee continued. #Or perhaps this was-#

#-their plan all along?# Phoebe hypothesized. #Send the expendable Commandos in to keep our eyes on them, and then-#

#-strike from above,# Celeste concluded bleakly. #Ms. Frost. Cyclops. We are about to be fired upon.#

* * *

One moment, Hope was fighting a Death Commando who seemed to be made of some sort of fluid rock. Whatever it was, it let him shift his shape and merge with the ground, then reappear unpredictably and throw projectiles the size of boulders at them. She was back to back with Rachel, borrowing her aunt's telekinesis, and the two of them were beginning to make some headway - the rock wasn't invulnerable, and the more of it they disintegrated, the less there seemed to _be_ of the Commando. 

Then, the whole world exploded around them. Things went gray and hazy and distant, everything edged with pain. There were hands on her shoulders suddenly, turning her over. Hope struggled for a moment before her vision cleared enough to let her see that it was Rachel bending over her. Her aunt was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, ugly burns showing beneath the rents in her uniform. Hope wondered dimly if she looked that bad.

"Hope," Rachel was saying raggedly, hands running over her as if checking for injuries, and then pulling her up off the ground. "Come on, kiddo, shake it off. We've got to go."

Hope's head spun as Rachel got her upright. She'd hit it or something; she remembered what a concussion felt like all too well. "Teon," she mumbled, "where's Teon?" As Rachel tried to pull her away, Hope looked in the direction where she'd last seen him, chasing around another Commando in armor, and... " _TEON_!" she screamed as she saw him lying there, unmoving. 

No. Not Teon. Parts of Teon, and her mind wouldn't reassemble them into her friend no matter how hard she tried. Hope screamed again, not understanding why she hadn't felt it, why she hadn't _known_...

"Let me go!" she shrieked at Rachel, her grip on the other woman's telekinesis sliding away and leaving her helpless in Rachel's surprisingly powerful grip. "Let me go, I can help him, I can save him-" She'd saved Nathan, she could save Teon too. He was her responsibility, one of her Lights, she had to try...

#You can't.# Rachel's voice was heavy with pain, but she didn't let go of Hope. #It's not the same. He's gone, Hope-#

" _NO!_ " Hope reached out in desperation to the other Lights, to Laurie and... her mind reeled in horror as she found nothing but emptiness where Gabriel should be. _Gabriel? Gabriel, where are you?_

Then Rachel was pushing her back to the ground, covering Hope with her own body as well as a TK shield as the world erupted around them once more. #Cyclops!# Hope heard Rachel call out desperately. #Someone's got to take out that warbird!#

* * *

Utopia was burning. Aerial bombardment had been Scott's worst-case scenario, Nathan knew, but there'd been a plan even for that. It just didn't seem to be in operation. The storm was dissipating rather than growing more intense, and no helpful torrential rain was appearing to put out the flames and make it more difficult for the Shi'ar targeting systems. Something had clearly happened to Ororo. 

The bombardment had come earlier than anticipated, as well. They hadn't expected the Shi'ar to be quite so eager to fire on their own people. Nathan gritted his teeth and ran onwards, tracking Hope and Rachel's psi-signatures and knowing only that he had to get to them before this got any worse. Hope wasn't hurt, not seriously, but her mind was screaming in agony and he knew why. He could feel the ruptured links with the boys. Two of her Lights, snuffed out. If she reached for the Phoenix again, when she was in this much pain... 

The shockwave from the warbird's second broadside threw him to the ground. He laid there for a long moment, stunned despite the TK shield he'd been holding. Rachel's desperate cry reached him, and Nathan clawed his way back to his feet, using the psimitar for support. 

No Ororo. No sign of Magneto, either. As he cast his thoughts upwards, Nathan realized that the warbird had to be thirty thousand feet up. At least. _Well. Flonqing good thing I can technically fly..._

#Rachel,# he sent. #Stay with her. Protect her.#

#With my life,# was the fierce reply. Nathan might have smiled, but he was already launching himself upwards, forming the strongest TK shield he could as he shot towards the warbird.

* * *

"Avengers Tower, come in!" David Alleyne tried again, wincing as the power flickered. "Avengers Tower, this is Utopia. We're under attack by Shi'ar forces - they've fired on the island! Do you read me?" The communications suite was well-shielded, but they could see on the screens how much damage had been done to the base as a whole. The fires would reach here sooner rather than later, and any chance they had of calling for help would be gone unless one of the telepaths could manage it. "Are they jamming us?" David asked desperately, looking down at his companion. "I'm not getting anything at all..." 

Madison Jeffries was half-inside the console, trying to do... what exactly, David didn't know. Something to keep the power up, he assumed. "I'll be damned if I can tell at this point," Madison answered, his voice muffled. "I can hardly keep the system up, let alone detect interference..." Sparks erupted from the inside of the console and David cursed and dove at the older man, yanking him out by the legs before he could be burned. 

"Doctor Jeffries. David Alleyne." The atonal voice from the doorway was Danger's, and the fact that the AI hadn't simply tapped into the intercom but had been forced to come to them in her physical body was a bad sign. "We must fall back to the infirmary," Danger went on, her voice not quite as toneless as usual. The hint of urgency there was unmistakable. "The fire suppression systems have failed, and Storm is not responding to telepathic communication. Another hit from the warbird and the physical shielding around this section will fail."

"Then get the Cuckoos out of Cerebra and let's go," Madison said grimly, scrambling back to his feet. 

David cast one last look at the useless console and then swallowed hard, getting up to follow. There was a plan for evacuation – this was Scott Summers they were talking about, there was a plan for everything – but they'd all hoped it wouldn't come to this. It boded very badly for what was happening outside. 

_The Avengers were supposed to help us. Where the hell are they?_ David shut out the small voice of protest and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. The whole complex shuddered around them as they ran through the halls to the infirmary. The only thing to do now was to implement Scott's final orders, and evacuate the injured and whoever else could make it there. If they were very lucky, Hope would be among them. 

Either way, there was no help coming from the Avengers, just like there'd been no warning. They'd been left to fend for themselves. _Just like always..._

* * *

"Is she alive?" Domino yelled, firing at a Shi'ar who seemed to flicker in and out of visibility. She was doing her best to cover Magneto as he levitated debris away from Storm's unconscious body. Ororo had taken out three Commandos with one lightning strike, but one of them had gotten off a final blast as he'd died, collapsing a wall on her. 

She and Magneto had been converging on Ororo's position, but they'd both been too far away. Dom had tried to shout a warning, but Ororo hadn't heard her over the flames and the crack of thunder. 

"Alive, but unconscious," Magneto called back to her - or started to. A streak of golden light cut through the sky like a comet, but heading upwards. Whatever was at the heart of it was blindingly bright, and there was something very purposeful about its trajectory. 

_Nathan,_ Domino thought, realizing who it was. _What is he-_ Then there was pain, impossible overwhelming pain, and she was staring down stupidly at the end of a double-bladed spear, protruding from her chest. She tried to say something, but only managed to cough up blood as she toppled forward, guns sliding from her nerveless grasp. _Stupid... distracted, too many variables..._

It was small consolation that Magneto reacted as quickly as he did. The Commando behind her had time for one scream before he died. But by then, Domino was lying on her side on the ground, her mouth full of blood and her lungs refusing to work. 

The last thing she saw was Magneto leaning over her, his lips moving. But there was no sound. No anything, a moment later. Just blackness.

* * *

The warbird fired again, beams of crimson energy slashing downwards through the clouds towards Utopia. Nathan dodged them by the skin of his teeth, his mind reeling from what he could sense down on the island. Hope, crying out in rage and pain as more of the Commandos closed on her and Rachel. Scott and Emma, cornered in the burning ruins by another group of Commandos who were following the age-old tactical doctrine of trying to cut off the head of the snake. 

Magneto, lifting an injured Storm into his arms and turning away from a still, black-clad figure lying in a pool of her own blood. If Nathan had been Hope's age, if he hadn't been so used to the feel of a woman he loved dying and leaving her corner of his mind an aching, bleeding void, he would have been screaming, too. Then the energy beams hit Utopia, and he lost his grip on all of the minds below.

Except Hope. She was alive – not conscious anymore, which might be a blessing in disguise, but alive. And the only way to keep her that way was to put an end to this right now. Nathan's lungs burned as he drove upwards through the clouds, the air around him thinning. Far above him, he spotted the warbird, the sun glinting off its hull plating. 

He was upon it before the Shi'ar gunners could shift the batteries to target him. Landing atop the drive section, Nathan reversed the psimitar in his hands, bringing the blade down against the hull and channeling every bit of grief and anger he felt into his telekinesis and through the weapon. Blazing lines of light spiderwebbed across the hull plating, and the ship heaved beneath him. Nathan gritted his teeth and _poured_ on the power, shoving it down the ship's figurative throat until he felt the shielding around the core crack. Molten power of another type began to leak out, and the crew of the ship abruptly had only moments to live.

He knew what was coming. His TK shield went up an instant before the warbird exploded – but it wasn't quite enough. He wasn't incinerated, but he'd used up too much strength, getting up here and then cracking the warbird's core wide open . The shockwave smashed into his shield with brutal force, flinging him back through the air like a rag doll. 

Down he went, spinning helplessly out of control. Fire and debris rained down after him, and the ocean was coming up fast.


	6. Roads To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utopia is in flames, casualties are high, and as the Avengers and the Jean Grey School rush to help, Nathan's prophecy about the Avengers comes true in a way no one expected.

"Brand, _what did you do_?"

Hearing that much helpless rage in Steve's voice made Clint want to put his fist through something. Abigail Brand was lucky she was safely in orbit, he thought grimly, and clutched at the arms of his seat as the Quinjet shuddered around them. Tony was pushing the engines well into the red zone, but none of the Avengers aboard were going to complain. They _had_ to get to San Francisco as fast as possible and keep this from getting any word. 

On Steve's screen, Brand didn't bat an eye at the question. "Don't put this on me, Commander. I warned you that the Shi'ar weren't going to take no for an answer." Her tone was brusque, almost dismissive. As if she was annoyed she had to take the time to explain this to him, and Clint caught himself grinding his teeth. You didn't talk to _Steve Rogers_ like that. 

"As far as I'm concerned, this was inevitable," Brand went on. "Right now, we've got to deal with the situation as it stands. What we need is-"

Steve's fist slammed hard enough into the console to dent it and his screen went dark, the connection broken. "I can't trust a damned thing that woman tells me," he said tightly, and they could all hear the fury still boiling beneath the surface. "I should never have trusted her in the first place. This is my fault."

Part of Clint wanted to tell Steve not to blame himself for whatever the green-haired bitch had or hadn't done, but this wasn't the time. "This is _her_ fault, Steve," he said instead, forcefully. "She's been talking to them for a _week_ and she didn't know they were getting ready to do this? I don't buy it. For all we know, she _helped_ the Shi'ar."

"Oh yeah," Tony said from the pilot's seat, his eyes never straying from the controls. "That systems outage? Completely a coincidence that it _just happened_ to blind us over the Pacific at precisely the right time. I've got some land to sell you in Florida if you believe that, by the way. Maybe you can use it to bury Brand's body once you take her head off for screwing around behind your back with the _murder-happy aliens_ -"

"We'll get to the bottom of her part in this," Steve snapped, his jaw clenched. "Later. Sharon, tell SHIELD headquarters that I want SWORD cut out of the loop on this right now. No tactical updates to the Peak. Headquarters is to monitor that warbird themselves, and I want to be the first to know if it drops more troops."

"Right," Sharon murmured and relayed Steve's orders to SHIELD headquarters, her voice low but urgent. 

_Cutting Brand off from anything she can use to turn this into more of a clusterfuck than it already is. Good call, Steve._ Clint nodded tightly, then turned his attention back to his own screen and the CNN correspondent reporting from San Francisco. 

The footage was long-distance and not all that good; no helicopter pilot without a deathwish would overfly Utopia while there was a battle going on. Which there very clearly was. The localized thunderstorm had to be Storm's work, but the pitch-black clouds clustered over the island didn't hide the energy blasts. Or the explosions. _And we're still too far out to do a damned thing to help them!_

"Luke, anything?" he heard Steve say. 

"Not a damned thing," Luke said grimly from beside Sharon. While Sharon coordinated with headquarters, he'd been trying to get through to Utopia and having no luck at all. "Thought I had something for a second there, but I lost it just as fast. The Shi'ar might be jamming us."

"Keep trying," Steve ordered. "They need to know help's coming. They've got to hold on," he said more quietly. 

Clint's jaw tightened, the sudden rush of sympathy he felt for his friend only making him angrier at the whole fucking miserable situation. Steve had made a promise. Clint had been right there to hear it, sitting in on one of the many calls between the Tower and Utopia in the days since the Shi'ar had arrived. 

_You've got my word,_ he'd said to Summers, who'd been cool and borderline uncooperative. Probably something to do with the lunatic idea the X-Men had that the Avengers wanted to kidnap the kid themselves, Clint had figured at the time. But Steve had let that slide right off his back, as if the unspoken hostility hadn't been there at all. 

_I won't let them take her,_ he'd told Cyclops. _And if they try to come for her I'll be right there beside you, helping you stop them. I swear it, Scott._

Clint had watched the X-Man's holo-projection closely, waiting to see that old Steve Rogers magic start to work like it always did. Summers had stared back at Steve for a long, tense moment, as if trying to read his mind through the communications link. 

_All right. I'll hold you to that,_ he'd finally said, and unbent enough to tell them about his plans to evacuate Utopia's non-combatants off the island for the duration. The conversation had even stayed productive. 

Now, Clint watched Steve stare stone-faced at the dark screen in front of him, and remembered how relieved his friend had looked when the call with Summers had finally ended. _Damned hard to read that man when you can't see his eyes,_ Steve had said wearily. _Doesn't help that he thinks I took Logan's side when they had their falling out. But I think he's ready to trust me when I say that we'll help. I can work with that._

Clint had heard enough about this split among the X-Men to have decided that Summers had more of a stick up his ass than he'd originally assumed and that Logan was the one in the right, but that didn't matter. There were a bunch of extraterrestrial bastards beating up on their allies, on people Captain America had sworn to protect, and someone _on their own side_ had prevented the Avengers from following through on that promise. Didn't matter if it had been a screw-up or a deliberate act of sabotage. The consequences were the same, and _fucking unacceptable_ any way you looked at it. 

His screen flashed white, and Clint's eyes snapped back to it as the CNN anchor started to scream in his earbud about _lances of fire coming from the sky!_ "Oh, Christ," Clint breathed, horrified. "Cap, I think the Shi'ar ship just fired on Utopia."

The sick silence that fell over the Quinjet's cabin lasted only a moment before Sharon broke it. "Confirmation from headquarters," she said grimly. "They say it looks like a direct hit on the island."

"They can't take too many of those." The iron control in Steve's voice was so unyielding that Clint almost pitied whoever was going to get the brunt of his anger when it finally broke. Almost. Someone _needed_ to pay for this, and pay in a big way. "Where's the Blackbird?" Steve asked sharply. 

"Ten minutes ahead of us," Tony reported, his voice tight and over-controlled in a different way than Steve's, as if part of his mind was elsewhere. Trying to figure out how to wring more speed out of the Quinjet, if Clint had to guess. "Hank's been tinkering. They're faster than we are."

"Doesn't matter," Clint muttered bitterly, part of him pitying the X-Men on that plane. It had to be even harder for them to be racing futilely to the scene of a battle that would be over before they got there. "None of us are going to make it in time to do anything but pick up the pieces."

"We have to hope they can hold out until we get there," Steve said. As much conviction as Steve put into the words, it still sounded like a platitude, and Clint closed his eyes against the rush of helpless fury that hit him as his screen flashed white again. Somehow, he didn't think optimism was going to win the day here.

* * *

"Rachel. Wake up."

The voice was harsh, imperious. Demanding her attention. Rachel tried to struggle free of the red-edged haze that shrouded her thoughts, but failed - until a powerful hand touched her shoulder and Namor's thoughts crashed against hers. All of that anger and forcefulness was like getting a bucket of icy water in the face, and Rachel gasped, her eyes flying open.

The world blurred in and out, but the shape leaning over her finally resolved into the uncharacteristically battered-looking king of Atlantis. "Slowly," Namor commanded brusquely as he helped her sit up. The world lurched around her and it was only by the skin of her teeth that Rachel managed not to throw up on him. "The tactical situation is stable for the moment. The only Shi'ar I've seen in the last five minutes are corpses, and Cable disposed of their starship."

 _Nathan._ Rachel blinked, trying to focus as she saw her brother stretched out on the rocks a few feet away. He was out cold, bleeding from half a dozen injuries. Hope was crouched next to him, holding her left arm against her chest awkwardly. Broken, from the look of it, and she looked nearly as bad as Rachel felt. Her other hand gripped one of Nathan's tightly. Beside her was Laurie, just as battered-looking and trembling in a way that suggested shock was setting in. 

"He's alive, but his return trip could have used some work," Namor said in a tone that might have been dry, if there hadn't been quite so much rage seething beneath the surface. "Can you use your powers? Frost's psi-net is down."

"I..." Rachel tried to reach out past the end of her nose - and nearly passed out. Namor made a noise of aggravation but kept his arm at her back, supporting her. 

"Neither of the teleporters is answering on the coms," he said brusquely. "I must find a way to get us away from here. We are too vulnerable, and I don't care to simply wait and see what the American response may be. Transonic?" Laurie looked up at him, clearly struggling to focus, and he shook his head with another growl of frustration. "Never mind. You obviously couldn't be trusted not to fly yourself straight into the sea."

Rachel swallowed as another surge of nausea and dizziness hit her. "The infirmary?" she suggested weakly. The plan had been to fall back to the infirmary and evac from there, if worse came to worse. None of them with the exception of Namor were in a position to defend themselves; he was right about needing to get out of here.

But Namor was shaking his head even as she spoke. "In flames along with everything else," he said grimly. Rachel could feel the heat of the fires behind her, and couldn't bring herself to try and look around at what was left of Utopia. It had been bad enough after the second time the warbird had fired on them. " _Some_ got out before that third strike from the warbird, at least."

 _Some?_ part of Rachel thought, horrified. How many people had they lost? The darkness in Namor's eyes as he met hers suggested that she didn't want to know the answer.

* * *

Emma could almost hear Scott scolding her now. _When you shift to your diamond form, you lose the psi-net with the team,_ she imagined him saying in that pedantic way he had sometimes, _I lose my overview of the situation, and then we have to figure out if the person shouting the loudest on the coms is the one we should be listening to. If you're going to shut us down like that, Emma, it had better be worth it._

Oh, he wouldn't have complained about her shifting to diamond at the moment of the warbird's third strike, not when it had probably saved her life and left her able to react when the dust cleared. But he probably would have had something to say about the fact that she was _still_ in her diamond form, using the enhanced strength it gave her to tear through the rubble instead of shifting back so that she could use her telepathy to reconnect with the rest of the team. 

Which she _would_ do, Emma told herself, but not yet. Gritting her teeth, she lifted a sizeable chunk of a metal support beam and flung it away. She would be responsible and strategic again just as soon as she had him out of here. A few more pieces of debris, and she uncovered a black-clad shoulder.

"You couldn't have stayed beside me, not when that meant we could _both_ have walked away from this," she hissed, clearing away the rest of the rubble as quickly and carefully as she could. She had lunged towards him in that last moment, intending to knock him down and shield him whether he agreed with the tactic or not. But he'd been too far away to reach. "Oh, no. So focused on the fight on the ground that you weren't looking up. Some strategist you are..."

She shifted back out of her diamond form the instant that there was no more rubble to lift and crouched next to him, using eyes and hands and mind alike to check him for injuries. Scott started to come around as soon as her thoughts touched his, which didn't surprise her; he was more sensitive to psionic contact than any non-telepath she'd ever known. 

#Come on, Mr. Summers. Open your eyes.# _We need you. I need you._ If he left her to try and salvage this situation on her own, she was never going to let him hear the end of it. Emma could feel Scott responding to her voice, struggling to focus, but there was so much pain, all but tearing at his thoughts. Under other circumstances she'd be telepathically summoning someone to help her carry him to the infirmary. Except the infirmary was burning, just like everything else, and _damn_ the Shiar to hell for all of this...

 _Emma._ His voice in her mind was faint but surprisingly focused, even as his eyelids continued to flutter behind his visor. _You've got to get me on my feet..._

#I have to do no such thing,# she sent back scathingly, her hands running over him. He flinched as she probed at his ribs and more violently when she touched his midsection, and Emma bit her lip. Not a good sign, that. #Try not to be any more of an idiot martyr than absolutely necessary, darling. It's very tedious.#

Most worrying besides the potential internal damage was a deep gash in his upper leg that was bleeding at an alarming rate, and she tore away part of what was left of her uniform to serve as a bandage. The roar of jet engines was suddenly audible over the flames, and Emma paused for only an instant to take in the sight of a familiar Blackbird coming in for a landing at the far end of the island. "We have company," Emma said through gritted teeth as she turned her attention back to him. "I suppose this is where I say 'better late than never' and pretend that I mean it."

" _Emma._ " Scott's voice was weak, but the hand that clamped down on her wrist as she finished bandaging his leg was anything but. His eyes locked on hers, and despite the pain he was in, his mind was already settling back into those familiar, focused patterns. "The Avengers... they'll be here, too. I have to be... able to react. _Get me on my feet._ Please."

 _You can knock Scott Summers down, knock the hell out of him,_ Emma thought in frustration, _but good luck keeping him down if he thinks for an instant that the fight isn't over._

"For a little while," she said tightly. " _Only_ for a little while. I could keep you as high as a kite on the telepathic equivalent of amphetamines indefinitely, Scott, but if you're bleeding internally..."

"Do it." It wasn't a request, and Emma glared at him. Just to make it clear this wasn't a willing surrender, she took a moment more to make sure he wasn't gushing blood from anywhere else before she laid a hand against his temple. 

_How many did we lose?_ he asked her as she reached into his mind, and she couldn't hide the truth from him, not when they were in such close telepathic contact. Scott's breath caught in his chest, and Emma found herself having to buttress her own mind at the icy, lethal rage that kindled like white fire in her lover's thoughts.

* * *

"Still nothing," Rogue said softly from where she was manning the coms. "Nothing at all. The Quinjet's getting no response either."

"We're going to find out soon enough," Logan mumbled, easing the Blackbird down. "Got a landing spot. Everyone hold on."

One paid for the choices one made, Hank told himself as the Blackbird descended through the smoke towards Utopia. When the Avengers had been briefed on the Shi'ar ship in orbit and its intended target, he and Logan had been confronted by the pressing question of how to best protect their students. Steve had clearly been on top of the situation, using SWORD to negotiate and making it clear to all of them that the Avengers would assist in the defense of Utopia if it became necessary. There had been no need for the Jean Grey School's staff to become involved, apart from those who _were_ Avengers.

And yet, as he had pointed out to Logan and Kitty, there had been no guarantee that the Shi'ar would see it that way. To them, the existence of a second team of X-Men in Westchester would be a strategic issue. They needed to be on alert for any sign that the captain of that warbird was prepared to take steps to keep them from reinforcing those on Utopia. Abigail had promised to let them know immediately if the Shi'ar negotiators so much as _mentioned_ the school. 

But in Hank's mind, it had been as important to convince his teammates that they needed to stay in Westchester, to be prepared to defend the students. If the worst happened, Utopia wouldn't be left to fight alone, he had pointed out; the Avengers wouldn't allow that. _Think of the students. Put them first. That's why you're here. Trust the Avengers to do their job. Trust me. Trust Logan. Trust Captain America. There is no way Steve Rogers would ever allow for an innocent to be handed over to be executed._

Only... Steve hadn't had much of a say in it in the end, had he? Somehow, a handful of inconvenient systems outages at SHIELD had suddenly turned into a full-scale crash of the satellite net over the Pacific, allowing the Shi'ar warbird to enter the atmosphere undetected. _'Somehow',_ his conscience mocked him. _Ah, yes, the pure random tragedy of it all, Henry. Wail about that in Abby's direction tonight and see what her reaction is._ Abby, who had been so... coldly dismissive anytime he'd asked her how the negotiations were actually going. He had thought she'd simply been irritated at being so brusquely overruled by Steve. He'd convinced himself that was all. 

_No. I made a choice._ One that had fulfilled his primary goal, at least so far; the students were safe. Rogue, Bobby, and Sam had insisted on joining him and Logan on the Blackbird today, but the others had stayed to watch over the school. Hank was worried about Bobby, who had been swearing under his breath, softly and bitterly, since they'd gotten close enough to see the island burning. He had been prepared to go to Utopia last night, but Hank had talked him out of it, convincing him _to give Abigail one more day, Bobby, and see if she can resolve this._ If what he feared about SWORD's involvement was true, things were liable to become... very strained between them in the near future. 

But they could only deal with the situation as it was, Hank told himself. There was no time for recriminations, self-directed or otherwise, if there were injured out there needing help. 

His teammates obviously felt likewise. As soon as they landed, Logan divided the team with a few brusque orders, sending Bobby and Rogue (borrowing his powers) to try and deal with the fires. Sam was dispatched to overfly Utopia and relay what he saw, and Hank and Logan took medkits and started to check the beaches. Any survivors capable of moving would have gotten as far away from the fires as they could.

They found the first Shi'ar corpses almost immediately, and one of their own a few moments later - Eric Gitter, who had called himself Ink. His skin had been... shredded. Or chewed, Hank thought sickly, crouching to check for any signs of life (even though he knew at a glance it was unlikely). _What could have done this?_

"Hank," Logan said brusquely. The note of warning in his voice was _not_ accompanied by the familiar _snikt_ , so Hank took a moment to close the young man's eyes before he looked up. 

The reason for the ambiguity of Logan's response was instantly clear as a familiar form appeared out of the smoke. The famous red and scarlet armor was soot-stained and torn, bloodied in places, and Erik was limping heavily as he crossed the rocks between them. His face was half-covered in blood, his silver hair darkened with it, but the steely gaze that locked on them held all of its usual fierce intensity and enough anger to be unsettling. Somehow, it didn't help to remind yourself that Magneto was an X-Man now when he was busy looking at you like that. 

"Erik," Hank said uncertainly. "Are you-" He told himself that 'are you in need of medical attention?' was a foolish question when he could tell the answer was yes. "Let me take a look at your leg," he said instead, picking up his medkit from where he'd set it down to check Ink's body. Start with the most obvious injury and work from there. It was a reasonable approach when dealing with a potentially recalcitrant patient in the field. 

"I don't need help from _you_ , McCoy." The snarl was cold and furious, and Hank twitched. As a young man, he'd heard that voice too often in his nightmares not to react to it now. "What are the two of you even doing here?" 

"We're here to help," Logan grated. He appeared to be holding onto his temper, but there was enough heat in the words that part of Hank worried. Logan had been ominously silent the whole flight. Someone was going to receive the brunt of his rage before the day was done, that much was probably inevitable. "If you don't want it, Hank can find someone who does."

"If he can find someone else who does," Erik hissed, ice-blue eyes kindling and every piece of metallic debris in the vicinity beginning to vibrate, "I would be... delighted. Joyous. _Because all I've found so far are corpses._ "

Above the flames, the roar of another jet engine was audible; the Quinjet, Hank thought, even if they couldn't see it yet. "Erik," he said quietly, an unashamed plea in his voice as he raised the medkit. "Please." _This is all I can do right now,_ he thought but didn't say. _Let me do it._

* * *

#Magik's got them,# Emma told Scott as she guided him down the rocky slope, step by painful step. They were clear of the flames, but the air was still thick with smoke and bits of burning ash. The Quinjet was somewhere below them, down by the waterline, but visibility was so bad that it might as well be miles away. #She's taking Rachel and the girls to the Swiss safehouse, but Nathan's back on his feet. He says he won't leave without you, so I've told him to hold position with Namor. In case we need them.#

Scott just nodded. Whatever she'd done to get him back on his feet wasn't working as well as he'd hoped it would. He had clarity, but no energy. With each step he found himself leaning on her more heavily, and as bright and vivid and _sharp_ as the world around him seemed, it had none of the heat it should. Even the flames had barely registered. The smoke was another matter, but the shallow breathing necessary so that he didn't start coughing and undo all her pain-suppression work was only making him feel even more light-headed.

 _They're the last, then?_ His mind was running feverishly over the lists Emma had been updating as they'd made their way down from the ruins of the hangar. Three lists: those confirmed evacuated, those still on the island (now in single digits, and that was a good thing), and those confirmed dead. 

Too many names on that last list. Far too many. His mind insisted on running the numbers. Six, seven percent of the remaining mutant population on the planet, gone in one morning. In less than an _hour_. Because he'd failed. The knowledge hurt in a way Emma's painkiller trick couldn't touch, but he kept telling himself he couldn't let himself feel it. Not yet. This wasn't over, and he _had_ to focus. 

#They're the last except for Erik,# Emma told him. #He's headed to the beach with Logan and Henry. If it comes to it he can detach himself from them easily enough, but for now he'll play it by ear.# Her arm tightened around him almost protectively. #Scott,# she said more softly, her voice in his mind unsteady in a way he didn't often hear it. #You're going into shock. You do know that, right? I don't know that you're up for this, whatever you think.#

 _I have to know, Emma._ He did his best to lock the grief and anger away behind a wall of iron. _Just... keep me on my feet for a little while longer. Please._ Right now he needed a strategy, and for that he needed more information: specifically, the details of _what the fuck_ had gone so wrong here today. If they'd just had a heads-up, even a few minutes more to get everyone into position, things could have been so different. A starship making atmospheric insertion was vulnerable, especially when you had telepaths to lock onto the minds of its crew, and teleporters to follow those coordinates and jump a strike team right onto the bridge...

But Rogers hadn't even given them that. Scott swallowed painfully past a throat that felt like sandpaper, and told himself to stop it. Time to deal with the situation as it was. He had to find out what _had_ happened, and why. There was precisely zero chance that Gladiator would simply shrug and give up after the loss of a single ship, so he needed to know where the Avengers stood now. What to expect from them. 

The smoke shifted enough to reveal the Quinjet below, with the Avengers just emerging. Rogers, of course, and Stark right behind him. Only three other Avengers, and Scott wondered dimly if this was just who had been available at Avengers Tower when the news had come in. The team was... too small and too unbalanced for its composition to have been planned. _No heavy hitters besides Stark,_ he thought at Emma. 

#Oh, so we're sizing up the tactical situation now?# There was a definite snap in Emma's mental tone. #Out of curiosity, what are you planning to do if it comes to a fight? Bleed on them?#

Before he could answer, his injured leg buckled beneath him and he lurched forward, almost falling despite Emma's support. The wave of dizziness and the sudden loss of equilbrium made him catch breath too sharply, and he started to cough. Maybe Emma was distracted by trying to keep him from falling on his face, but the pain suppression was starting to slip and he could feel distant waves of fire, tearing through his chest. 

Emma was shouting something. Not at him, he thought. Abruptly, there were another set of hands, stronger than hers, helping her ease him to the ground. The idea of being flat on his back brought on a surge of panic - _no, I won't be able to breathe_ \- but even as he thought it, Emma was there behind him, propping him up. Her presence flared even more brightly in his thoughts, dulling the pain again and pushing back the haze trying to swallow his thoughts.

"-coming with a medkit. Scott?" Steve Rogers was crouched beside him, peering at him with all evidence of real concern. "Hold on, okay? The Helicarrier's not far behind us, and it's got a full infirmary aboard." Then he was saying something to Emma that Scott, too busy trying to focus again, didn't quite catch. Something about more wounded?

"-evacuated, most of them," Emma was saying, her voice cold and brittle. "So kind of you to be concerned. Oh, do you have bodybags aboard, Commander? We could use some of those. Rather a number of them, actually."

Scott watched Rogers, saw the way his jaw clenched at Emma's words. The flash of pain he didn't quite manage to suppress. "I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I can tell you. This shouldn't have happened." His voice was tight, controlled, but Scott knew that he meant it. Putting aside everything else, Steve Rogers was a good man. 

But that didn't particularly matter. "Just... tell me why," Scott said. His voice was weaker than he'd have liked, but at least the words came out clearly. Above them, he heard the unmistakable sound of Stark's suit thrusters; off on an overflight, no doubt. Sharon Carter knelt down on his other side, opening a medical kit. But Scott kept his gaze locked on the other man, waiting.

"There was a systems outage," Steve said roughly, helpless anger surfacing in his expression for a moment before he visibly wrestled it back under control. "Blinded our satellite coverage over the Pacific. I think..." He stumbled over the words, then swallowed hard and continued. "I think there's a pretty good chance it was deliberate."

#Brand,# Emma hissed in his mind and he felt her stiffen behind him, the hand resting on his shoulder tightening almost spasmodically. #He thinks it was Brand. _Damn_ the woman...# 

Scott closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back his own anger once more. It was harder this time, knowing that his people were dead because the green-haired bitch in orbit had decided to take the easy way out. But then, should he be surprised? Brand had proven back at the beginning that she was all about the needs of the many. Mutantkind had been expendable in her eyes, even before they'd been so few. 

"Someone... at SHIELD?" Scott said hoarsely, opening his eyes. His vision didn't clear right away, but he saw Steve's shoulders slump. "Or at SWORD?" He wasn't above twisting the knife. Not today. 

"I don't know for sure," Steve said heavily. "Not yet. But I know Brand didn't think negotiations would work. I... just thought she'd resigned herself to trying." He looked up at Scott, clearly struggling for composure. "If it was Brand, I'll deal with her. But she's not my main concern right now."

Carter was doing something with Emma's makeshift bandage on his leg that almost managed to hurt despite the telepathic pain suppression. "Oh?" Scott said vaguely. As if his mind was beginning to wander - which, really, it was trying very hard to do. That was okay, it just meant he didn't have to put much work into pretending like he was about to pass out. _Keep talking, Rogers. Keep the wounded man awake._

Emma's hand tightened on his arm. #There are days you remind me why I bother keeping you around, Scott Summers.# He started to think a question at her, but she saved him the effort. #He sent Barton and Cage to check for any surviving Shi'ar. I didn't bother to tell him they're all dead .#

 _Scatter them. That's good..._ Steve was obliging him with an answer to his question, and Scott told himself to pay attention. This was the part he needed to hear. 

"-the coordinates where we can pick up the rest of your wounded. We'll get you all someplace secure while we figure out what to do next." Steve rubbed at his jaw, sighing, and looked up at Emma. "Hope needs to be in protective custody. The sooner the better. If she's with the Avengers, it should keep the Shi'ar from trying a second surgical strike. At least for now."

 _He didn't just say that._ Scott raised a hand to cover Emma's where it rested on his other arm. As if he needed to reassure himself that she was there, hearing this, and that he wasn't hallucinating the fact that Nathan's prophecy had just come true at the worst possible moment. 

#Oh, no. I heard it too. As if his team would have done any better than ours,# was the bitter response. "Hope is quite safe where she is, Commander," Emma said aloud, her voice chilly. "But thank you for your concern."

"How can she be safe?" Steve protested. "You can't hide her from the Shi'ar! We've got to pick her up as soon as possible -"

"No. No... you don't," Scott said, as clearly and firmly as he could. Beside him, Carter hesitated, then tightened the new bandage around his injured leg in one quick movement. Scott sucked in a sharper breath and felt Emma's presence in his mind exerting more pressure to suppress the pain.

Steve's expression tightened, and he looked almost pained at Scott's response. "Scott... this is only going to get harder from here on out. You might have turned them back this time, but how much did it cost you? This wasn't supposed to be your people fighting alone. Let me help," he urged. "Let me do what I can to make up for not being here an hour ago. Please."

"You've... g-got to be kidding me," Scott said raggedly. Emma's grip on him tightened, and he realized he was shivering. "How much did it _cost_ me? I trusted you a week ago. I trusted you to _tell us_ when we could expect a Shi'ar warbird to drop on our heads. You couldn't even do that, because you can't keep control of your own people!"

Steve's jaw clenched. "We don't know that for sure. I-" He stopped short as Emma laughed derisively. 

"Oh, please. I can see it in your mind, Commander. You know perfectly well that if it wasn't Brand, it was someone else on your side of things. You're already planning what you're going to do when you find out who did it."

"How about you stay _out_ of his mind, Frost?" Carter said tightly. "Just a suggestion. Since we are here to help."

"I'm sorry, dear, he's just so transparent." There was something cold and vicious underlying the words. Emma Frost, playing at banter to avoid ripping someone's throat out. 

"Enough." Steve's expression was like stone. "Scott," he said, not harshly, but firmly enough that Scott knew that this was one of those situations where Captain America was not about to take no for an answer, "You know the Shi'ar are going to try again. Next time it won't be one warbird. I'll do everything I can to protect Hope, but she's their target and I need her where I can see her. Not out there running around where the Shi'ar are going to cause even more collateral damage if they try to take her again!"

"That is _my granddaughter_ you're talking about," Scott rasped, and there was no controlling the anger anymore. He couldn't catch his breath properly, so it wasn't the roar of fury it should have been. _How fucking dare he..._ But he forced the words out anyway, because he knew from what Emma was murmuring in his mind that he needed to keep Steve's attention on him for just a little bit longer. "I am not... handing her over to the _American government_! Would you s-stop and think for a second about what you're asking... what they've _done_ to mutants for all these years? She's _nothing_ to them," he said, wheezing painfully. "They'd... h-hand her over in a _heartbeat_..."

All at once, Steve was looking more concerned than anything else. He rose, exchanging a quick look with Carter. "I'll sort this out with Ms. Frost. Right now we need to get you some proper medical attention, get you stable. I'm so sorry, Scott," he said more quietly. "About all of this. But you're going to have to trust me for now. You don't have any other choice."

"Wrong," Scott murmured faintly, as the streak that was Namor flashed down out of the smoke-choked sky. He was moving too fast to be entirely silent, and Steve glanced up just in time to get his shield up in a defensive position. But it was only enough to blunt the impact, not to keep Namor from knocking him flying. The two old wartime comrades wound up at the very bottom of the slope, a good twenty meters away, and Scott heard Steve shout at Namor, demanding to know what he thought he was doing. 

Carter was already scrambling backwards, one hand going for her gun. Emma merely _looked_ at her and she froze. "That's right, Agent Carter," Emma said tightly. "Sit there and behave yourself. Believe it or not, we've all had quite enough fighting for today. Well, except for his Majesty down there, but there's nothing unusual about _that_."

Things were starting to go hazy and distant again, but Scott still flinched as Nathan landed abruptly beside him, the air around him glowing a fierce gold, just like the psimitar in his hand. He dropped to a crouch beside Scott, his gray eyes widening with anger and concern, and his free hand rested briefly on Scott's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. #Stay with us, Slym. We've got this under control. You just hold on.# 

Someone else crouched down on Scott's other side, all but pushing a blank-eyed Carter out of the way, and Scott found himself blinking up at... Bobby. Bobby. Here. _I... didn't think he'd come._ He tried to say something, to tell him how glad he was to see him, but he didn't have the breath or strength to manage it. Behind Bobby stood Sam, tight-jawed and wary-looking as he divided his attention between them and the fight happening downslope.

"Jesus, Scott," Bobby breathed, looking angry and guilty and more frantically worried than Scott had seen him in a very long time. He reached out and took Scott's hand, squeezing it tightly. His hand seemed... warm, in comparison to how cold Scott felt, and really, that was kind of alarming. "I'm so fucking sorry. I should have been here a week ago." He looked up at Emma desperately. "This looks bad. We've got to get him some help. I get why going with SHIELD is out, but-"

"Calm down, Robert," Emma murmured. "We're just waiting on Illyana. Joshua is at the Swiss safehouse; we knew we might need him. Scott will be perfectly all right." But the hand that was stroking Scott's hair was shaking a little, and the darkness that was pushing in at the edges of his vision was doing so... kind of fast, really. 

"I'm going to go help Namor," Nathan grated, and Scott reflected distantly that he'd heard that tone in his son's voice before. Usually just before things started exploding. "Tell Magik to pick us up down there when she's got the four of you safely away. We've got to get out before the Helicarrier gets here, or things are going to be even messier."

It was the last thing Scott heard before he blacked out.

* * *

"Namor! For God's sake, stand down!" Steve snarled in frustration, trying to back away. _Something_ was going on up the slope where he'd left Sharon with Summers and Frost. There were other people up there now, and a flash of light that might have been been one of Illyana Rasputin's teleportational discs. One quick glance was all the attention he could spare, because Namor seemed to be doing his best to try and beat the hell out of him. "Why the hell are you fighting me?"

"Because, Captain," Namor spat, landing another solid hit to the shield that sent Steve staggering backwards, "I am very tired. Tired of you-" Another punch. "-your government-" A flying kick that sent Steve back to the ground. "-and _convenient systems outages_ that leave me standing over the bodies of children!" 

"Enough!" Steve roared at him. Oh, he'd had just about enough of this. He scrambled back to his feet and blocked the next punch from the Atlantean king, then managed to get inside Namor's guard and get in a good blow of his own with the shield. "Avengers assemble!" he snapped over his com as Namor reeled briefly backwards. 

/Cap, got problems of my own,/ he heard Tony respond, sounding strained. /Magneto seems to have taken an overwhelming dislike to my face, and I am wearing the _wrong_ suit to be duking it out with the man-/ 

/Beast here,/ Hank sounded out of breath. /Wolverine and I are making our way to your position. We've lost touch with our teammates. They're not answering on our coms-/

/ Goddamn it, Luke's down - Rogue hit him from behind!/ Clint snarled. / What the fuck's going on, Cap?/

 _I miscalculated,_ Steve thought, but didn't say. _Again._ He got the shield up before Namor's fist connected with his face, but it knocked him right back to the ground, and he barely rolled away in time from the follow-up kick. Wrong approach, wrong approach entirely. He'd been feeling so damned guilty about what he'd let happen that he'd come on too strong, and wound up rubbing their noses in their worst fears about the government. From a tactical point of view, he'd been a moron and completely failed to keep in mind that Frost could have been busy with her telepathy the whole time. 

"It's a pity the girl wasn't killed, no?" Namor railed at him. "Then the rest of us could have been left to die natural deaths, and none of you would have had to expend one more moment's thought on the mutant problem-"

Steve threw his shield. There were moments one simply did not try and reason with Namor. This appeared to be one of them. Namor dodged, but not quite quickly enough. The shield struck him a glancing blow, still enough to send him stumbling backwards, and then ricocheted off a rock and came back to Steve's hand. Steve hauled himself back to his feet-just in time to raise the shield as Cable descended on him like a comet. 

The spear he carried came slashing downwards - and stopped, inches away from the surface of the shield. Steve heard the telekinetic swear under his breath, bitterly, before he eased back a step, lowering his weapon. There was a disgusted growl from Namor's direction, but Cable half-raised a hand and some silent communication clearly passed between the two X-Men.

Neither of them were making any aggressive moves. Steve lowered the shield cautiously and straightened, eyeing the other man. _He... really does look like his father._ The resemblance had never been quite so obvious before. "Cable," he said, his voice tight. One last chance. Maybe it was futile, but he had to try. "I could stand here apologizing until the sun goes down, but that's not going to change what happened. It's what we do now that matters. Can you honestly tell me that you can protect your daughter from the Shi'ar on your own? I saw you take down that warbird-" It had been an impressive sight to say the least, even on the Quinjet's monitors, "-but you're a soldier. You know the odds you're facing. Are you really going to turn away potential allies?"

"Says the man who did _precisely_ what I knew he would," Cable growled as another teleportational disc appeared behind him and Namor. "Oh, you would have taken my daughter and protected her, I'm sure. Right up until the moment when someone stepped in and said 'Rogers, we'll look after the girl while you see to more important matters.' Then you would have trusted them, because that's what you do with your people. And Hope would have paid the price for it."

Illyana Rasputin poked her head out of the light. "Last call. All aboard," the Russian mutant said, with a cold look in Steve's direction. "Beast and Wolverine are nearly here. Unless you'd rather wait?"

"Tempting," Namor muttered, "but another day." He stepped back into the light, with one last seething glare for Steve. 

"Carter's fine, in case you were worried," Cable said brusquely, stepping backwards as well. Steve frowned, his shield lowering the rest of the way. "You don't get to join those of us who lost women we loved today. Count yourself lucky." He was gone in a flash, before Steve could even react to the words. 

Breathing heavily, Steve crouched down for a moment, catching his breath and trying to reassemble the pieces of his composure. "Damn it," he muttered finally, quietly but vehemently, and then rose. Up the slope, he saw Sharon back on her feet and moving towards him. In his ear, the others were reporting in, telling him that the only X-Men left in evidence were Logan and Hank. 

"Steve, you all right?" Sharon said, out of breath as she reached him. 

But Steve shook his head. "Hell no," he said wearily. "But ask me again in an hour. After I finish sorting out what the hell we're supposed to do next."


	7. Truth and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The X-Men regroup and tend to their wounded, while the realists among them acknowledge that the Phoenix may be their only hope. Back at SHIELD, Steve cleans house and starts to plan. But when he reaches out to someone he hopes can serve as a bridge to Scott, he discovers that the relationship between the Avengers and the X-Men may have been irrevocably broken.

Steve hadn't wanted to leave Utopia, not while there were still bodies on the ground. But he had good people on site, working to secure the island and do what needed to be done for the dead, and there were things back at SHIELD headquarters that only he could do. Confrontations that needed to be had. So he had taken the Quinjet back, waiting until he'd stepped off the plane to open a channel to the Peak and tell Abigail Brand that he wanted her in his office immediately. 

Then, quite deliberately, he had taken the time to shower, change into a fresh uniform, and hear IT's preliminary report on the satellite outage. Making her wait wasn't the point. Steve had just... needed a little more time before he had to face her. Time to get out of the soot-stained costume, to wash away the dirt and the smell that reminded him he'd been handling the corpses of people he knew, people he'd sworn to help defend. 

Time to punch a hole in the wall of the shower and then have to dig tile chips out of his knuckles, apparently. Wishing it had made him feel better, Steve had patched himself up, then gone to meet with IT. 

They'd already given him their preliminary findings while he'd been in transit, so it was mostly a matter of confirming the details. The mystery, such as it was, had been solved after several hours of intense effort. _One of our ex-hackers ferreted out the trail,_ the section chief had told him. _Good investment, that kid. Those enlist-or-go-to-jail deals don't always work out._

Having hard evidence was a good thing. It helped him push aside, at least for now, the helpless boiling rage he'd felt seeing the line of bodybags waiting to be transported to the Helicarrier's morgue. He had what he needed to remove Brand from where she could do any _more_ damage, and Steve forced himself to focus on that as he stepped into his office.

He dropped the copy of the report on the desk in front of Brand as he walked over to take his own seat. "The computer virus that took down our satellite coverage this morning came from the Peak," Steve said harshly, and found himself fighting once more for control at the sight of her cool composure. She had ice water for blood; that was the only explanation. "The results are conclusive," he went on as Brand picked up the file and opened it. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Brand was silent for a long moment as she skimmed the report. Then she closed the folder and placed it back on the desk, her green eyes cold and wary as she met his. "I'm prepared to defend my choices in front of a board of inquiry," she said, more than a hint of defiance in the words. "I've done it before."

"Good luck with that." It came out as almost a snarl, and his voice wasn't appreciably steadier as he continued. "This isn't a case where you took undue initiative or circumvented your engagement protocols, Brand. That Shi'ar ship fired on Utopia _three times_. Three direct hits. Even if I had approved your plan - which I never would have done! - there was nothing surgical about that strike. That was an aerial bombardment of protected territory. As far as I'm concerned, what you did makes you a willing accomplice to mass murder."

"And what happens when the Shi'ar come back with an armada," Brand shot back, "and decide they're going to destroy whatever continent Hope Summers happens to be occupying?" That cool composure was fracturing, and there was real heat in her words as she continued. "You don't have a plan for that, do you? You're stuck on needing to do the _moral_ thing. You can't afford to play the superhero anymore, Rogers. Not in the job you're doing. You have to make the hard decisions, or you're going to wind up getting countless innocent people killed in a futile attempt to protect one girl."

Hearing that, Steve realized abruptly that there was absolutely no point in arguing with her. She was convinced hers was the right approach; she didn't understand, didn't see that he couldn't take the easy way out. It was a slippery slope, one that meant compromising everything that meant _anything_. America didn't sacrifice its citizens because it might be too much trouble to defend them. _I'm wasting my time even talking to her._ Steve straightened in his chair, giving one sharp shake of his head. 

"I didn't take on this job to play some bloodless numbers game, Brand. If you can't be trusted to help me find a better way-" And he _would_ find a solution, one that everyone could live with both literally and figuratively, "-I need you away from SWORD so that you can't do any more damage."

"You're deluding yourself," Brand spat. "We can't fight a war with the Shi'ar Imperium, Rogers. We can only lose one. They won't back down over this. Arrest me if you want, but every single one of my analysts on the Peak is one hundred percent in agreement with me. There is _no way_ out of this without letting the Shi'ar take Hope Summers."

"You've got one thing right, Ms. Brand," he said, deliberately leaving off the 'Agent'. "I _am_ arresting you." Brand's jaw clenched as she fell silent, and Steve took the opportunity to summon the security officers he'd left in the hall outside.

"Do yourself a favor, then," Brand growled as the door opened to admit them. "Assign Henry to replace me. Let him take the measure of the situation. Maybe when he tells you exactly the same thing I'm telling you, you'll actually listen to _him_."

"Henry McCoy is an Avenger," Steve said flatly, staring her down. "He knows that we do the right thing. _Not_ the easy thing."

Brand rose, removing her sidearm and handing it to one of the security officers. "If you think this was easy," she said tightly, "you'd be wrong. None of this is easy, Rogers. And it's only going to get harder."

"Get her out of my sight." When the door closed again behind them, he opened another channel to the ops center and started to issue orders. There was a great deal that needed doing. Finding the refugees from Utopia, wherever they'd gone, was only the start. 

Brand was absolutely right about one other thing. This wasn't anywhere near over.

***

The Swiss safehouse belonged to the Hellfire Club, or more precisely to its White Queen. _I won it in a bet several years ago,_ Frost had said when she'd offered it as a refuge during their strategy sessions. _I cheated, of course, but I did rather want it. It's the perfect bolthole. Just what we'll need if the worst happens._

Erik had to admit her description had been accurate. Tucked away in a corner of the Bernese highlands, the chalet was far enough from the tourist areas that accidental company was unlikely. Its position halfway up the mountain afforded a good view of all the approaches, and its security and communications systems were state of the art. As was the in-house infirmary. The house even had sufficient beds for all of its current guests.

Right now, he didn't feel the need to claim one for himself. He had passed through exhaustion and come out the other side, as one sometimes did in such situations, and he was unwilling to allow himself to stand down just yet. Not until he was sure that no ill-advised decisions would made while everyone was still reeling. His own injuries had been comparatively minor, easily enough treated with the medical supplies on hand. Foley had quite rightly been occupied with those in dire need of his healing abilities. It was sheer bad luck that both Ororo and Scott had been among that number; Ororo's head injury had been more serious than it had first appeared, and Scott had nearly died. To have lost either of them would have been disastrous, Erik thought bleakly. Morale had already taken a critical blow.

"We should call the school," Drake was saying. Erik grimaced, cursing himself for having let his mind wander so far that he'd missed the shift in the conversation. "They should know where we are and what the situation is," the younger man went on doggedly, the words forceful but his voice low. No one wanted to disturb the wounded upstairs. "We need more help, guys. I mean, how many people here aren't at least walking wounded?"

"Ah, yes." Emma was curled up in a chair by the large stone fireplace, her expression wintry and detached. Deliberate, Erik thought. They had all seen her frantic worry for Scott, the near-panic she'd so barely suppressed. With him safely out of danger, now she was compensating. "Let's call the school," she went on, "and tell Henry and Logan just where we are. Of course, the Avengers will promptly show up to take us into protective custody, but I'm sure it will work out for the best."

"We cannot call the school." There was no chair in the room large enough for Piotr. He had been sitting cross-legged by the fire, his expression bleak and distant until Drake had made his suggestion. "We would only endanger the students. They are non-combatants. They must remain so. If the Shi'ar believe the school to be helping us... I will not live with that possibility. None of you should either." He rose, murmuring something about watching the skies, and headed out onto the balcony without even a glance backwards. The wind blew the door shut behind him, hard enough that one might have been forgiven for thinking he had slammed it.

"There. Two good reasons not to call, Bobby," Betsy said, her voice tired and strained. She was balancing her own mug clumsily in bandaged hands. The burns she'd suffered from pulling Noriko Ashida out of burning debris weren't severe (or so she claimed) but they were obviously painful. Noriko herself was unconscious in one of the rooms upstairs. Joshua had been forced to expend nearly as much energy on her as he had on Scott. "I'll add a third," she went on. "We've got at least a little breathing room here. If we can buy Hope more time..."

"She was making significant progress before the Shi'ar became an issue," Erik said at Drake's uncomprehending look. "If she can manage to manifest the Phoenix fully, she may be the best defense we have." There would be a certain amount of justice to that, he reflected, his eyes narrowing. Let the Shi'ar reap the consequences of their choice to attack. _Let them face what they feared._

"You've got to be kidding me!" Drake said indignantly - and too loudly, which he seemed to realize the instant the words were out of his mouth. He stopped, flushing, and went on more quietly, although the agitation was still audible in his words. "Yeah, let's put this all on the poor traumatized kid. Push her into going full-on firebird and send her against the Shi'ar. Great plan! Next thing we know, she'll be flying around wearing red and gold and eating suns."

"... Drake. Shut your mouth before I shut it for you." The growl came from halfway up the stairs, where Nathan was coming down to join them. He moved stiffly enough that Erik realized he must have turned away Foley's offer of help ( _foolish,_ Erik thought, _he needed it as much as Rachel did_ ), but the gray eyes that locked onto Bobby were hot with barely controlled anger.

"You don't joke about that," he went on, jaw clenching visibly as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Bobby raised both hands, almost defensively, but Nathan advanced on him, the furniture vibrating slightly in the wake of his passing. Betsy sat up straight in her chair, and Emma set her coffee aside and rose. Nathan didn't seem to notice either of them. "You don't _ever_ joke about that," he grated. "Not around me, and _never_ around her. Do you understand me?"

Drake, to his credit, stopped trying to back away. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I am, Nathan. It was a stupid thing to say. But you didn't hear..." He stopped, biting his lip, and went on more softly. "All I'm saying is that she's been through hell. No one here should be talking about using her as a weapon."

On another day, the mistrustful look Drake gave him then would have made Erik laugh. He didn't find the slightest bit of humor in it tonight. "Really, Robert," he said coldly. "I have been fighting alongside Hope while you've been playing teacher in Westchester. You give her too little credit. She's not a child to be protected, and _none_ of us see her as a tool to be used. She is far stronger than you seem to think."

Some of the rage had ebbed away from Nathan's posture, but his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides. "She _is_ strong," he said, his voice gravelly, "but she needs more time. Gabriel and Teon were linked to her. Their deaths snapped those links. Rachel and I are doing what we can, but-"

"I may be able to help as well," Emma said crisply, drawing Nathan's attention. "Some careful psychic surgery can repair the worst of the damage, reduce the shock of it. I'll try in the morning. But I think right now, we _all_ need some sleep. Our next move can wait until the majority of people in the house are actually conscious."

She moved towards Nathan, stopping in front of him and laying a hand on his chest as she looked up into the other psi's red-rimmed eyes. "And you," she went on in a soft, steely voice, "will walk right up those stairs and have Joshua see to your injuries. We cannot afford to have you at less than your best. Hope needs her father, not another Summers playing the martyr." She got a glare for the comment, but gazed back at him steadily, not backing down. There was obviously telepathic communication happening in that moment, and in the end, Nathan's shoulders slumped.

"Fine," he muttered, as good as a surrender. "Rogue's sitting with Hope and Laurie for a little while. Just... let them be. Just for tonight." It sounded almost like a plea as he turned away and headed back to the stairs.

Emma waited until he was upstairs and out of earshot before she turned to Bobby. "Don't challenge him about Hope," she said, her voice pitched low enough that Erik had to strain to hear it. "Not ever. He wasn't entirely rational on the subject _yesterday_. After this, he's liable to be even less predictable."

Bobby grimaced, but nodded. Betsy set her mug aside gingerly. "Help me upstairs, Robert? Sleep is sounding like a grand idea." Bobby hesitated, but then came over to help her up out of the chair. She stifled a gasp of pain, leaning heavily on him. "Emma, promise me you'll wake me up if Nori takes a turn for the worse."

"I promise," Emma said quietly. She stayed where they was as they made their way upstairs. Only then did Erik rise from his own chair, and Emma took a deep breath, weariness showing clearly in her expression as he approached her. "I appreciate that Robert wanted to talk strategy, but now was not the time. We'll have to get Namor and the others here in the morning."

The other safehouse was half a world away in Goa. On the coast, which was why Namor had headed there instead. _You need me at my best,_ he'd said, _not weakened by perching atop a mountain._

"We need Scott or Ororo on their feet in the morning," Erik said just as quietly. "At least one of them. Otherwise that strategy session is likely to turn into an argument." Almost certainly so, with Namor involved. "You and I don't have the necessary authority. Nathan might have been an adequate substitute-"

"But he's wrapped up with Hope." Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Damn the Shi'ar. Robert wasn't... out of bounds with that particular fear. We need to buy her as much time as possible."

Erik's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Are you truly afraid of the possibility," he said slowly, "or simply being pessimistic?"

Her smile was twisted. "I've always been afraid of the possibilities the wretched little brat represents," she said under her breath. "But I'll be damned if I haven't started to believe she might save us all. Even now."

***

Steve hadn't expected it to be so hard to find their missing mutants. But seventy-two hours had gone by with no sign, without even a real lead. Wherever Scott Summers was, he'd made his preparations well. Tony had pointed out that it might have as much to do with _oh, the ungodly number of high-level telepaths they have with them, maybe?_ , which was a fair point. But SHIELD's psis hadn't found anything either, and no one, not even at the Jean Grey School, seemed to know where to find Charles Xavier these days. 

SHIELD was several steps behind and seemingly doomed to remain there, which was why Steve now found himself grasping at straws. This schism among the X-Men made things more difficult, but he was hoping that certain ties had survived the breach. There were few X-Men, current or former, whose experience with the government _hadn't_ been uniformly negative, and only one of that tiny minority happened to also belong to the Summers family. 

His office door opened to admit Tony, and Steve nodded in greeting. "I'm expecting Logan and our guest shortly," he said. "Flight deck just called; they're on their way up."

"I didn't think he'd come. I mean, after he didn't return your first two calls I figured that was his way of telling us to go screw ourselves," Tony said with a yawn, slumping into the nearest chair. He looked weary and disheveled, as if he hadn't left the lab since the last time Steve had checked in with him. There was a pair of safety glasses perched atop his head, as if he'd forgotten they were there. 

Steve made a mental note not to let Tony back out of this office until he got a proper update on his progress. Vague reassurances and promises to call Reed Richards for a consult weren't particularly encouraging. Steve knew perfectly well he'd asked for a miracle, but this _was_ Tony Stark. Lofty expectations were not that unreasonable. 

"That would be why I went to Logan. The two of them have a rapport, or so I'm told," Steve said, rising to refill his coffee cup. He'd moved a coffeemaker in here yesterday, when it had become abundantly clear that sleep was going to be at a premium for the foreseeable future. "I'd have asked Hank to come down from the Peak, but he's got his hands full up there."

"The Shi'ar still huffing and puffing?"

"Be flippant when they're not waving the threat of an invasion at us, all right? And Tony, I would _really_ like to be able to tell them we do indeed have a concrete technological solution to the problem." It had only made sense, once they'd finally sat down and had a proper strategy session. Keep the damned cosmic firebird from getting anywhere near Earth, and the girl (and her protectors) could be saved. Earth itself could be saved from a potential Shi'ar invasion. It was a win-win scenario.

Brand's files had actually given them the first clues as to how that might be done. She'd had a remarkably complete account of how the Shi'ar had managed to fracture the Phoenix, thanks to SWORD agents at work in the Imperium. Hank had added his recollections of the X-Men's encounter with the broken Phoenix that had returned to Earth, and between him, Tony, and Hank Pym, they'd come up with an idea. Not one that would 'kill' the Phoenix - the Shi'ar trying that had created more problems than it had solved - but one that would discourage it from making planetfall on Earth and infesting its host.

But as it was, the half-designed 'Phoenix gun' was a shot in the dark, one that had a good chance of backfiring. _Right now it'd be like hitting the damned thing with a giant taser,_ Tony had explained when he and the others had first presented their plan. _It might drive it away. Might also piss it off, in which case we're all screwed anyway._ He'd pointed out that if they could get Hope Summers here, get a more precise read on the nature of the girl's connection to the Phoenix, they might be able to develop something more refined.

"Working on it, Steve, I swear," Tony grimaced. "But Pym and I are on our own; Reed's turned me down flat. He says we're playing with fire, and I don't think he means it as a joke."

"... did he say why?" Steve asked with a frown. If Reed Richards didn't think this was going to work, he wanted to know why. But then his office door was opening and Tony was bouncing back up out of his chair with a few words of greeting for Logan and something about the siren song of the lab calling. It was rather deft, as escapes went, and Steve was left stifling his irritation as he went to greet his visitor. 

"Mr. Summers," he said, crossing the room and offering his hand to the man standing beside Logan. "Thanks for coming."

Alex Summers regarded him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly, but then reached out and took the offered hand. He was in civilian clothes, loose cargo pants and a leather jacket over what looked like a simple black shirt – no, too bulky, Steve thought. _He's got his containment suit on._

"I'm not sure what this is meant to accomplish, Commander Rogers," Alex said, "so you may not want to thank me yet. If you're looking for an informant, you've got the wrong guy."

There was no hostility in the blue eyes that met his, but no give either. Steve knew that some people at SHIELD underestimated this man, seeing his brother as the major player. Institutional memory could be woefully short, sometimes. 

"Not an informant," Steve said firmly. "Someone willing to work with us. I'm hoping that once I explain what I have in mind, you'll see the difference."

"Just hear the man out, Alex," Logan growled. He looked displeased in a way Steve couldn't immediately interpret, other than to guess the two of them had been having some kind of argument on the way up to the Helicarrier. "He's got a plan, which is more than your brother seems to have. And since you and I both know damned well you know where they are..."

Steve raised an eyebrow, but gestured the two men to chairs. If that was true... well, they could talk about that later. He'd rather focus right now on convincing Alex that his plan was solid. _One step at a time._ The idea was to convince the X-Men to cooperate. That was the only way this could work. Trying to bring any of them in by force would be impossibly messy.

"So here's the problem as I see it," he said, once they were all settled. "The Shi'ar aren't going to stop. They didn't confirm the kill-" Alex's eyes went glacial at his wording, but Steve opted not to comment. "-so they're going to keep coming until they do. None of us want to see another attack. The best way to avoid that is to find a way to satisfy everyone. If we can keep the Phoenix from merging with Hope, then the Shi'ar have no reason to want her dead and we can avert any more violence."

"... and how exactly are you planning to make the Phoenix do anything?" Alex asked slowly. "It's not precisely pliable."

Steve glanced in Logan's direction; time to make use of whatever personal pull he had with the man. Logan picked up on the silent signal immediately. "Stark's building something that might work," he said gruffly. "Him, Hank, and Pym. They think it can drive the Phoenix off, keep it away from Hope."

"'Might work'. You 'think' it can drive the Phoenix away." Alex shook his head. "It isn't going to work. Not the machine, whatever the hell it is. I mean the Shi'ar won't buy it."

Steve leaned forward slightly in his chair, studying the other man intently. "Why?" he asked simply, his eyes narrowing. He'd done his research when he'd decided to ask for this meeting. Alex Summers had spent significant time in Shi'ar space, fighting for the Neramani faction during the civil war. Just because he'd asked the man here in hopes of enlisting his help in contacting his brother didn't mean he wasn't going to make use of his other relevant knowledge, if it was on offer. 

"They're warriors," Alex said forcefully. "At their core, that's what they are. Sharra and K'ythri, remember? One of their gods forced the other into marriage. They're all about _compelling_ compliance. They're not about to sit on their hands and wait on a potential solution posed by an inferior culture. They'll see it as you trying to appease them, and you'll be lucky if all they do is laugh in your face."

"It's not like we've got a lot of choices here, Alex," Logan growled. "We're trying to stop a goddamned invasion, and your brother pulling a disappearing act into a civilian population somewhere ain't helping. Not to mention," he said even more harshly, "keeping the Phoenix away from the girl just makes good sense. Last thing we need's another Dark Phoenix."

Steve sucked in a sharp, aggravated breath, ready to order Logan right back out the door if need be. That was decidedly _not_ the issue right now. _One hurdle at a time, Logan, damn it..._ But before he could react, Alex snorted and glared right back at his former teammate. 

"Don't even go there," he said flatly. "Rachel had the Phoenix for years. Did all kinds of good with it. _Jean_ managed it just fine before she died, too. A host makes the difference, Logan. You know that."

"Neither of them had an easy time with it, Summers. You know that as well as I do. Hope doesn't _need_ that kind of power," Logan snapped. "You can't sit there and tell me the damned Phoenix force is a good thing. There are friends of ours dead this week because the Shi'ar know better!"

"Enough," Steve said through gritted teeth. They were treading on dangerous ground here, for all three of them. There'd been times the last few days that Steve had been grateful for not having a moment to himself, because it meant he hadn't had the chance to sit down and think about how his decisions had driven the mutant race even closer to extinction. He couldn't even imagine how the two men in the room with him were feeling. 

"Alex," he said, intent on the other man again once he was reasonably certain Logan wasn't about to erupt. "Think about Hope. I know she's been through hell, even before the attack on Utopia. Is it right to expect her to take on the burden of managing cosmic power, when we know that the Shi'ar and God knows who else will want to kill her or use her? If we can do this, she can live her life without having to worry about any of that. Can you really tell me you don't want that for her?"

It wasn't just the Shi'ar threat to Earth, or the concern that the Phoenix might go out of control. All of that _was_ a worry, but Steve genuinely didn't want to see an innocent girl caught up in this mess any more than she already was. He'd given his word and failed to protect her once. He didn't intend to fail a second time. 

Alex was regarding him steadily, one eyebrow going up at Steve's last question. "And what do you want _from_ her?" he asked, sounding unmoved. "That's where this is going, isn't it?"

"We'd need her to come here," Steve said – and felt the ice crack a little more beneath his feet at the way Alex's eyes widened. "Tony doesn't have enough information to work with," he said more rapidly. "He needs to know more about her connection to the Phoenix force. If we could get her cooperation for some tests-"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Alex was out of his chair in a split-second, shaking his head. "I came here because Logan asked me to," he went on harshly, "but there is no way in hell I will advocate turning my nephew's daughter over for _experimentation purposes_!"

"For God's sake, Summers!" Logan was up in a flash, too, facing off with his former teammate with bared teeth and a snarl catching his throat. The aggravation in his eyes was swiftly heating to rage. "You look me in the eye, Alex, and you tell me you think I'd _ever_ be part of experimenting on a kid!"

"I never thought you or Hank would ever leave Scott and Ororo in the dark about a Shi'ar warbird about to drop on their heads, either!" Alex growled right back, not backing down. "Yet you managed to do it. Because you _trusted the wrong person_! Forgive me if I don't jump to trust your judgement now!"

"You think I'm not seeing that island every time I close my eyes?" Logan shouted at him. "Dom, Jimmy, those kids-"

" _Enough_!" Steve barked, rising from his chair. Amazingly, they both fell silent. Logan even turned away, snarling under his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to pop his claws. Steve took a deep breath, fighting back his own anger and guilt as it flooded up, unbidden. 

"I'm sorry," he said tightly. Alex turned his attention to him, and there might as well have been a wall up behind those cold blue eyes. Steve told himself not to give up just yet; he didn't have many other options here. "I can't do anything to change what happened on Utopia. All I can do is try and stop this situation from getting worse. But I _need_ to talk to your brother. I need him to see sense, and we need Hope _here_. Hank can't stall the Shi'ar for long, you're absolutely right about that. What will it take?" Steve said almost desperately, ready to plead with the man if need be. "You want me to guarantee Hope's safety? Keep a team of Avengers _and_ X-Men with her at all times? I'll do it."

"Commander... _Steve_." Alex was looking at him with something that was almost... disbelief. As if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "You're not getting it, are you? You can't guarantee any of this. You're answerable to the American government, and the moment they want to overrule you, they will. Trust me. I _know_ this," the former leader of X-Factor went on, his mouth twisting bitterly. "There could be plans within plans here, things under the surface that you're not seeing. You may think you have a solution, but the _instant_ you have her in custody, someone else is liable to come up with a much simpler answer to the Shi'ar problem."

Steve's jaw clenched. "Every one of the Avengers would lay down their lives for someone under our protection," he said heavily. He'd hoped he wouldn't see this in the man. This level of... profound distrust. Had Brand destroyed any chance he had? he thought despairingly. Wrecked everything he'd tried to do to build bridges with the mutant community? "We would go to the wall to stop any more of your people from getting hurt or killed over this. I don't know what to say to make you believe that."

Alex gave him the faintest of smiles, one that seemed almost pitying. "I believe it, Commander. But you're assuming you'd even have the opportunity. She's not safe with you," he went on quietly, "and I won't try and convince Scott and Nathan otherwise."

Logan muttered something under his breath, keeping his back to Alex. "Cap, he's going to turn right around and tell Scott what's going on, soon as he's out of here. Probably the only reason he came."

Steve sighed, sitting back down. "I hope you do, Alex," he said simply. "Because it's an open invitation. If they come in, I'll do everything in my power to help."

Alex gazed down at him for a moment, then looked away. "I was at the school," he said finally, "right after the Decimation. I remember government 'help'. Sentinels on the lawn, keeping us penned like animals. Telling us they were doing it for our own protection."

Logan sank back in his chair, and Steve couldn't have described the expression on his face. "You have no idea what that was like," Alex went on, and although his voice stayed low, it was shaking with what Steve realized was anger. "You have _no_ idea how much we fear, how _justified_ that fear is. This country, this whole world – it's proven it to us, time and time ago. Maybe Logan and Hank have convinced themselves that they can trust you, because you're their friend, and a good man. But being a good man doesn't mean a damned thing in the job you're in. You're not the enemy, but you don't have nearly as much power as you seem to think you do."


	8. The Girl On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix makes a grand (and terrifying) entrance. Scott gets his marching orders from a surprising source, and Ororo reaches out to a third party in hopes of intervening with Tony Stark. Meanwhile, Steve is presented with a new conundrum by the last person he expected to see.

The meadow was a cold and windy place, even with the sun fully up. It was nearly thirty minutes' hike from the chalet, straight up the mountain. Nathan had picked it deliberately, for the illusion of distance it offered. The safehouse was bursting at the seams, full of the recovering and the newly-arrived. All those minds, worrying away at what had happened and what was likely to happen now, a constant muttering refrain of _what do we do, how do we fight, do we have a chance?_ It wasn't good for Hope. If the Goa safehouse had been more defensible, he'd have taken her there already.

_What is, is,_ he told himself, breathing in the fresh cold air as he watched Hope. They were both in the meditative position, but she was deep enough in the trance-state to be levitating - upside-down, no less. _That's the moment when you drift away from the bonds of your physical surroundings,_ Aliya had said once. _When all things become possible for your mind. Just make sure you don't fall on your head when you come back out of it, beloved._

He lost the steady rhythm of his breathing at the sudden sharp memory, and his shoulders slumped. Thoughts of Aliya were coming more often than they should these last few days. Thoughts of Hope, too - not his daughter, but the foster mother she'd been named for, the brave, kind woman who'd taken them in and given them a home, who'd loved them both. The second wife who'd died in his arms. 

And Dom, of course. Especially Dom. Every time he stopped for more than a minute, every time he closed his eyes to sleep, she haunted him. Her smile, her laugh, those knowing violet eyes. If he'd kept her at a distance, not drawn her so deeply into things, Scott would have sent her back out on another mission. He'd wanted to, Nathan knew, but Dom had turned him down. Said something breezy about "your son having dibs", and stayed.

Stayed to die. _I held on too tight and I got her killed. What is, is._ Nathan closed his eyes, glad for the strength of his shields so that Hope wouldn't sense the way the ache in his chest had suddenly swelled into wrenching pain. He tamped it down mercilessly, imagined it bound in chains and locked away where it wouldn't see the light until this was all over. Until there was time to grieve. 

Lost for a moment in that internal struggle, he almost missed that first tell-tale flicker on the astral plane. Nathan's eyes flew open and he caught his breath as he looked up at Hope. For the first time since before the attack, there were ghostly flames taking shape around her. _That's it,_ he thought, coming to his feet as the fire grew more intense, pale gold taking on more vibrant hues of red. Sparks flew upwards, as if it were a literal fire and someone had just tossed kindling onto the flames. 

#Hope,# he sent in a bare whisper. #Open your eyes.#

He felt his words reach her. Hope righted herself in the air and unfolded from the meditative position like a flower opening to the sun, and the flames billowed around her as her feet touched the ground. Her skin was all but incandescent, as if lit from within, and the shape of wings was _almost_ there in the fire that trailed behind her. 

She opened her eyes, and the flames were there, too, burning emerald instead of red-gold. "You're hurting," she said, and there was an eerie resonance in her voice, something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It was her voice, yet... not quite. "I can feel it. I said once that I would kill anything that hurt you."

"Hope," Nathan murmured, trying not to tense. "Remember what Rachel said about anger." He wished Rachel was up here with them today, but Emma had needed her help with some long-distance telepathy. Surely she was sensing this, though. Some back-up would be good. Very, very good. 

Her eyes burned brighter, fierce love and determination washing over him like a tidal wave. "Is it anger? I want to protect the people I love. The people who've sacrificed so much for me. I want anyone who hurts them to _burn_. I think that's fair, Nathan, I really do."

Those _were_ wings beginning to extend behind her, and Nathan took a breath that was only slightly unsteady. He stepped closer, extending his hands. _Ground her,_ he thought. Hope didn't hesitate for a moment to reach back, and Nathan jerked in surprise as the flames started to spill down _his_ arms as well. Heat flooded his mind, heat and radiant light and the sense of an overwhelming _presence_ , reaching out eagerly.

Hope's hands tightened on his when he would have pulled back. #It knows you,# she sent, and Nathan shuddered, as trapped by that burning gaze as if she'd used his own telepathy to freeze him in place. #It remembers being part of Madelyne, feeling you grow inside her. It remembers Jean, too. How much she loved you. And it knows you and Rachel are trying to help me. Don't be afraid of it, Nathan. It doesn't mean you anything but good...#

It was hard to focus. His thoughts were drowning in fire, fire that whispered to him, promising things... #Hope,# he managed, #stop... I can't-# But fiery talons closed around his thoughts - gentle, so very gentle, and yet so very firm. Claiming him, and Nathan's overwhelmed mind slipped into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Ororo stepped out on the balcony and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply of the cold mountain air and willing herself back to calm. Things were as settled as they could be for now. It was time to compose herself and start to think about what should happen next. She raised her hands to her temples, rubbing gently. The dull headache that been lingering since Joshua had healed her concussion seemed a little sharper tonight. 

Only to be expected, she supposed, after the stress of the afternoon's events. They had been in the midst of another strategy session, weighing resources and options in the light of Alex's information about SHIELD's plans, when Betsy had suddenly fallen from her chair, her whole body shaking in a violent seizure. The same malady had struck Emma and Rachel during their long-distance telepathic conference with Namor, who had taken the loss of contact as a sign that the safehouse was under attack. Within two minutes, he had arrived via Pixie's teleportation with half the current inhabitants of the Goa safehouse, all of them prepared for a fight. Ororo had been so focused on trying to settle things down, to make sure that the three telepaths would not injure themselves until the seizures passed, that it had taken Bobby's burst of profanity from the kitchen for her to remember that Scott had gone to make more coffee and had not come back out. Unlike the telepaths, he'd simply slipped quietly into blank unconsciousness. But he had also remained unconscious, even when they had started to regain their senses, and that worried Ororo a great deal.

She should have known what it was immediately, even before finding out Scott had been affected as well. But the realization had only been starting to take shape before Hope had landed in front of the chalet, surrounded by the Phoenix firebird and carrying an unconscious Nathan. Things had gone from chaotic to sheer pandemonium at that point. Hope had called out for help and then passed out herself, the firebird dissipating. She was still unconscious as well, as was Nathan. Betsy was groggy, Rachel was dazed enough that Ororo had insisted she remain in bed, and Emma...

"Emma is quite annoyed at the moment," Emma said, stepping out on to the balcony to join her. She looked... haggard, a description Ororo could not remember ever having applied to the other woman. "Emma is considering taking a certain Miss Summers over her knee until she promises to stop being quite so cavalier with a certain force of nature."

"Is Hope awake?" Ororo asked quietly, refraining from offering any banter in return. It was Emma's way in times of stress, but not hers. 

"No. She is however glowing. In her sleep." Emma took a deep, shaky breath, raking her fingers through her long blonde hair. "All of this... it was the Phoenix being _exuberant_ , Ororo. It could have burned out the minds of every psi on this mountain simply out of an excess of good will."

Ororo's expression tightened and she looked away for a moment, trying to compose her thoughts, to figure out what questions needed to be asked. It went without saying that the Phoenix could be both curse and blessing. Despite all the good Jean and Rachel had done with it, it was a dangerous miracle at best. They needed to remember that at all times. "Was this a full manifestation, then?" she finally asked, not sure if she wanted the answer to be yes or no. 

But Emma shook her head immediately. "No," she said. "When the backlash hit us, I... felt a sense of distance. Less than before. It's still coming, Ororo, it was just... close enough to see us." A brittle laugh escaped her. "To say a proper hello, in the way a tsunami says hello to a coastline. From what I was able to tell, it put Nathan into a state of psychic shock with the equivalent of a _comforting hug_."

Ororo blinked at the oddness of the mental image, but then reminded herself of Nathan's connections to both Madelyne and Jean. "He was its focus, then?"

"Yes. Betsy and I simply caught the backlash. Rachel was hit harder because of her connection to it, and Scott..." Emma sighed. "Scott's still not stirring."

"Can you tell why?"

"He's... withdrawn, very deeply into his mind. If this doesn't turn into normal sleep within a few hours, I'll follow him in and see what's going on." Emma hesitated, but then went on, almost unwillingly. "He does have a connection of his own to the Phoenix. Nathan may not have been its only focus today." Her lips twisted in a faint, bitter smile. "It does seem to have a fondness for Summers men, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Ororo murmured, thinking of the last time they had encountered the Phoenix – the broken, damaged Phoenix. Of Jean's... spirit, or resurrected astral form, whatever it had been, _merging_ with it. "Emma," she said after a moment, half-tentatively, half-wistfully. "Is it... Jean?" 

There was so much they didn't truly understand about the Phoenix and Jean's tie to it. But it had seemed to be her during that confrontation in the Arctic. Had _felt_ like her, in that moment of transcendent telepathic contact before the flames had died and Phoenix/Jean had stood before them, transfigured.

Emma was the one to look away this time. "The Phoenix we encountered that day was terrifying," she said after a moment, her voice not quite steady. She would scorn any attempt at comfort, Ororo knew, but the memory had to be uncomfortable even now. Emma and Scott had been willing to sacrifice themselves that day to contain the broken Phoenix. They had come very close to doing so. 

"So powerful," Emma went on, sounding more detached now, as if putting distance between herself and the memory. "I remember it burning through me... I tried to hold it, but it was going to kill me, I knew that. It was like... a forest fire, raging out of control." Blue eyes met Ororo's, sharpening again. "But it was only a fragment, Ororo. The Phoenix was broken. Remember Scott telling her to go and find her pieces? What's inside Hope is like the heart of a star. I think the Phoenix did exactly what Scott told it to do. Jean may be in there somewhere, or the memory of Jean, but all I saw was fire."

Not Jean, then, Ororo thought. The Phoenix itself, whole and intact, the universe's pure, uncontrolled force of creation and destruction. _Soon to merge with an angry, grieving young woman. Goddess help us all._ "Does Hope have any chance of controlling it?" she asked, then sighed heavily. "Are we doing the right thing? For her, for all of us?" 

"Do you actually want me to answer either of those questions?" Emma said tartly, sounding much more like herself. "I'll pose you one of my own. Should we really put more faith in Tony and his latest toy? Really? I am every bit as terrified as I was the last time, Ororo, but I'm more convinced than ever that Scott's right about Hope."

"As am I, if we are being honest with each other," Ororo said softly. "We _have_ known since the start that her abilities go far beyond simply mimicking the powers of others. Hank once called her a catalyst." She wondered what Hank was doing, how he was handling Abigail's betrayal. He ought to be here, she thought. He and Logan both. The X-Men _should_ be facing this together.

"Let's be blunt; she manipulates the X-gene like the rest of us breathe," Emma said, her voice low but fierce. "Give her the Phoenix, and she can rewrite this world to smash Maximoff's damned spell. I don't know about you, Ororo, but I'm not willing to stand back and let the mutant race go gently into that good night. Not when there's any chance at all to save us."

It had been a long time, Ororo thought, since she had considered the woman beside her an enemy. She doubted they would ever be friends, but there was respect there now, respect that had only grown over the last few tumultuous weeks. The White Queen had proven herself as an X-Man – and as Scott's partner, as unwilling as Ororo was to admit that aloud. That said, Emma had not changed that much; she was still cynical, suspicious by nature. Not the type to put her faith in anything or anyone without being very sure of what she was doing. 

And yet, here they were. The conviction behind Emma's words was unmistakable. _I needed to hear that certainty._ Ororo nodded to herself, then chose a path. For better or for worse. "We need to consider a new strategy," she said softly. 

"Oh?"

"Yes." Ororo turned to face the other woman, smiling slightly. She would be lying if she said this had not been in the back of her mind since Alex had called to warn them. "We still need time, yes? The Phoenix has yet to arrive. I think you and I are very much on the same page, Emma, in having no faith at all in Anthony's latest toy."

Emma stared at her for a moment, then looked away, shaking her head. "And here I thought I slept with the lunatic among the leadership..."

"Scott and I have learned a lot from each other over the years. Besides," Ororo said, not missing the smile Emma was trying to repress, "I think it may be time for someone to point out to Mr. Stark that it is actually preferable _not_ to make the Phoenix angry."

"You?" Emma smiled mirthlessly. "I suppose you do have that Avengers identicard somewhere."

"Oh, no. I have a much better candidate in mind."

* * *

He walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence. It seemed strange that it was so quiet, Scott thought dimly. The halls should be full of students, shouldn't they? Full of young mutants, talking and laughing and jostling each other as they moved through the school. The place felt like a shell without them. Like it had lost its purpose.

As he passed by a set of windows, he froze, his body turning unwilling as he saw what was sitting out on the lawn. A burned-out school bus, blackened and twisted and shattered. The memory pulled at him, the explosion, the flames, the screaming... Scott swallowed painfully, laying a hand on the window to steady himself as he fought for composure. _No. That's the past._

The past, just like the crowded halls had been the past. He was dreaming, Scott thought, dreaming about the school like he hadn't done in months. His own words to Emma as they'd watched Logan and the others leave in the Blackbird echoed in his mind. _I feel like I've finally graduated._ He hadn't thought it was bravado at the time, but maybe it had been. Maybe there was a part of him that had never really left. 

Down the hall, he heard a door open. Scott straightened, turning slowly away from the window and trying not to flinch at the movement in his peripheral vision. Knowing that you were dreaming didn't help much when your head was full of ghosts. He headed down the hall, unsurprised to see that the door swinging slowly open was the one to the Professor's office. Maybe that was it. A lucid dream that was actually an attempt at telepathic communication. He'd wondered where Charles was in all of this, why he hadn't responded to any of the messages Scott had left for him since Utopia had been attacked.

But the sunlight coming from the open door was... too bright to be sunlight, Scott thought, an instant before he turned to step into the room. And saw why. 

"Hi, Slim." The redhead standing by the window turned and gave him that smile he would see in his dreams until the day he died. Flames flickered around her almost lazily, but the Phoenix-costume was white and gold like the last time he'd seen her, and her eyes were full of love. 

"... Jean?" Scott whispered, uncertain. He couldn't tell. He'd never been able to tell, not for sure. That was the problem, and... 

"You know, Scott, it would be nice if you didn't immediately start flagellating yourself at the sight of me." But she was smiling as she said it, only a hint of wryness in her tone. "I thought you were past that. But then..." The smile faded in something sadder as she moved towards him. "I suppose guilt's at the forefront of your mind right now for more reasons than me."

"It's not," Scott protested weakly as she reached out and took his hands. Hers were warm, just a shade _too_ warm to be human, but... solid. Familiar. 

"Oh? Even though the cemetery outside has all those new graves this week?" The green eyes that met his were wiser, now, if no less knowing. "That's a very well-worn corner of your mind, that one. Do you know that most people can't read at all in dreams, Scott? If they can even see text, it's not stable. And yet, I'd be willing to bet that if I took you out there now, you could read every single one of those names to me. Tell me I'm wrong."

Those luminous eyes held his, gently but firmly, and Scott... couldn't. He couldn't lie to her. He hadn't been honest with her when it could have changed everything, and then there had been no chance to change that, to do better. _Live, Scott,_ that pained whisper echoed in his mind, and the memory was so sharp that he could almost feel the weight of her in his arms again as she'd fought for breath, her whole body trembling as it shut down. _All I ever did was die on you._

"Shouldn't I remember them?" he asked roughly, his hands tightening on hers almost involuntarily. "Can't I give them at least that?" There would be more names, he knew. More graves before this was over. 

"The dead don't want your guilt, Scott. Part of you knows that; it's why the cemetery's here, deep enough that even Emma can't see it." She freed one hand from his, reaching up to touch his face. It was only then that he realized he wasn't wearing his visor or glasses, and Jean ducked her head, smiling almost foolishly. "Indulgent, I know." Warm fingers traced the contours of his face. "But then, maybe I was trying to make a point too. You haven't even realized where we are, have you? This isn't the Professor's office."

Scott tore his attention away from her - so hard to do, when she'd been the only thing in the room as soon as he'd seen her - and looked around. "...it's not, is it?" he said slowly. "It's Logan's."

"Did the samurai sword on the wall give it away?" He glanced back in time to see the teasing smile take shape. Jean took his face between her hands and leaned up to kiss him, a kiss like soft fire. "See things clearly, Scott," she murmured in his ear, as the room around them faded into light. "The empty halls. Are they the past or are they the future? You're not the only one who has to make that decision."

* * *

There was nothing that bothered Tony more than being interrupted while he was working. After less than three hours of moderately lousy sleep, he'd been disturbed twice before he'd even gotten through his first cup of coffee. The first call had been from Steve, wanting a progress report _again_ and sounding cranky enough that Tony had wonder how much sleep _he'd_ gotten. The second had been from the flight deck, letting him know that a shipment he rather badly needed for the half-assembled anti-doomsday weapon in front of him would be at least twelve hours behind schedule. That had put him in a sufficiently foul mood that he'd ignored the third call, then the fourth. He only realized that might not have been the best of ideas a few hours later when a security officer showed up at the lab door and informed him rather meekly that Dr. Richards was here to see him. 

"Jesus, Reed," Tony said rapidly, crossing the floor to greet his guest, trying to hide both embarrassment and relief. Reed had sufficient pull to get a ride up to the Helicarrier whenever he wanted, but from the narrow-eyed way he was looking at Tony, that hadn't been in his plan for the day. And yet he _was_ here, which could be a very, very good thing. Tony wasn't too proud to acknowledge that he could use a little help right now. "Did you call? I'm sorry, it's just been crazy around here and I was trying to focus-"

"It's fine," Reed said briefly, turning his attention to Tony's workspace. Tony could almost see his work being weighed, measured, and assessed, all in an instant - and found wanting? As usual, it was difficult to tell. "This is a discussion we needed to have in person, in any case."

Tony frowned, his shoulders slumping a little. "I'm... guessing you haven't changed your mind about lending a hand, then." _Damn it._ He shouldn't have let himself get his hopes up. 

"I'm afraid not," Reed said simply. "I was really hoping you would have listened to me the first time, Tony." His gaze strayed back to the worktable and he shook his head slowly. "I'm disturbed to see how far along you are. You need to stop what you're doing. Dismantle this, erase your plans before someone else gets hold of them, and tell Steve it's time to go back to the drawing board. It's the only ethical choice."

The suggestion (if one could call it that) had been delivered in the most remarkably dispassionate tone. _Reed Richards is questioning my ethics. All right then._ Tony took a deep breath, then quite deliberately went over and sat down at his worktable. Taking a moment seemed like a good idea. 

"Reed," he finally said, as mildly as he could, "if you have an issue, you need to talk to Steve. He's the one who's taking point on this." He was respecting the chain of command, Tony told himself, not passing the buck. 

"Because you gave him an option he doesn't have the expertise to realize is utter lunacy. You're _building_ it for him," Reed said bluntly. He sounded a little less dispassionate this time. "We talked about this, Tony. That's one of the reasons I gave SHIELD access to my files on the Phoenix. So that you'd read them and understand all the reasons why this is such a singularly bad idea."

"Honestly, Reed, I'm not any happier about this than you are." Tony tossed a discarded circuit board in the direction of the refuse bin. "But we've got no other option right now. I swear, I'm being as careful as I can. The goal is _not_ to kill the damned thing, or even hurt it. Just to... convince it that Earth's not worth the bother."

The tight, unamused smile he got in return left him taken aback. "Let me see if I understand," Reed said grimly. "You want to convince a cosmic force that's all about _change_ that Earth would prefer the status quo. That we're a dead end. _Did_ you actually read those files, Tony? That may be as good as planetary suicide."

"I think... it's a stopgap right now. A calculated risk if we actually have to go through with it," Tony said, feeling uneasy all over again as Reed brought up the possibility. He'd be lying if he said it hadn't haunted him. "The goal's to get to it before it gets to Hope. If we manage it, we've got to have _something_ to use, Reed." Fighting it wasn't an option. He'd even considered a few theoretical containment options before realizing they took 'unfeasible' to a new level. 

"So you're building a _cattle prod_ ," Reed said, that penetrating gaze boring into Tony's. "What makes you think it's going to _let_ you dissuade it from making planetfall?"

Tony leaned back in his chair with a growl of frustration, running his fingers through his hair and trying _not_ to pull it out by the roots. Fatigue did bad things to his never-robust reserves of patience. "It's the best I can do right now," he snapped. "I _want_ a better plan, Reed. The instant I have one, I'll junk the cattle prod, believe me. But unless Steve can find the X-Men and we can convince them to bring Hope here for some tests, that's not liable to happen. This is the best I can do with the information I have."

Reed shook his head, coming over to the worktable. "I won't deny that things would be a great deal simpler if the X-Men weren't in hiding," he said somberly. "But the reality of the situation is what it is. What I'm not understanding is why the priority is stopping the Phoenix, rather than the Shi'ar. They're the immediate threat."

Tony pushed himself up out of his chair, heading for the coffeemaker. "Efficiency," he said over his shoulder to Reed, more brusquely than he'd meant to. "It solves two problems at once. Fighting the Shi'ar would be costly in a big way. We'd be looking at a lot of lives lost, even in the best-case scenario." Brand hadn't been wrong about that. "If we keep the Phoenix away from Earth, they have no more reason to attack us. Plus, we won't have to worry about that poor kid losing it because the damned firebird's driving her crazy. We're trying to save as many lives as possible here, Reed. Whatever the Phoenix wants, it's not high on my priority list."

Reed was silent for a long moment. "You're really not going to be persuaded, are you?"

"No. But if you have an alternative I'm somehow overlooking, I'm all ears," Tony muttered, sipping at the fresh coffee. 

* * *

Hank still hadn't called in from the Peak. His negotiating team had been set to meet with the Shi'ar ten hours ago, and Steve could only hope that the long silence meant that some progress was being made. In the meantime, he'd opted to review the files on the Phoenix again. Part of him was still convinced there was _something_ here, some shred of information that would be key to a better and safer resolution to the problem. There were definitely patterns to the Phoenix's behavior; Reed Richards had pointed them out in some detail, as had the files Hank had passed along. Patterns meant predictability, at least to a degree. 

Still, none of the people who'd written these analyses had ever been a Phoenix-host themselves. Steve keenly felt the lack of a first-hand perspective. _What I wouldn't give for an hour with Rachel Summers right now,_ he thought with a sigh. It was just one more reason why the X-Men's disappearing act was so damned counterproductive. 

The soft chime announcing that someone was at his office door broke his reverie. Steve looked up, reflecting that there were times he was up here on the Helicarrier that he missed his office at headquarters, which was always equipped with a diligent gatekeeper in the outer office. "Come," he called. Maybe it was Tony with a progress report.

The door slid open, and Steve rose from his chair almost without realizing he was doing it. He stared in utter, blank shock at the woman who stepped into his office, and it took a long moment for him to find his voice. 

"Dear God," he breathed. "How did you even..." _Get up here,_ he'd meant to say, but the words died on his lips as Wanda Maximoff gave him a soft, apologetic smile. 

"Hello, Steve," she said softly. "Sorry to drop in like this."

"Wanda," he said a bit unsteadily. "You... should have called." It wasn't that he wasn't relieved to see her, to know that she was all right. He was, very much so. It was just that he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that her appearance was coincidental. If she _was_ here because of what was going on with the Phoenix and the Shi'ar, her presence made things infinitely more complicated.

"I know." She reached up, tucking auburn hair behind one ear and sighing, her eyes dropping. She looked tired, Steve thought with a pang of empathy. "I've been debating whether or not to come since the attack on Utopia. But after what I sensed today, I decided that you needed to know. I trust you to make the right decision, Steve."

"About?"

Wanda looked up at him, her eyes full of regret. "I know where you can find Hope Summers."


	9. The Shape of Things To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott follows a dream to the Jean Grey School, and everything changes.

The school was too quiet. It wasn't just the empty halls, either - the students were sticking to their rooms rather than common areas when they weren't in class - but something deeper and more worrisome. Kitty had half-expected the kids to seize the opportunity to run wild, with so many staff members gone and the attack on Utopia all over the news. But even the more... challenging members of the student body seemed subdued. Some of the more sensitive, like Idie, were visibly struggling. They'd all had friends who'd stayed behind on Utopia, who were now either missing or... gone.

Kitty had done the sensible thing the day of the attack and called Maureen Lyszinski, who'd been more than willing to come to the school to offer crisis counselling. Her old therapist probably hadn't expected to wind up spending most of the week here. _Maybe I should just bite the bullet and offer her a guest room,_ Kitty reflected tiredly. 

It hadn't helped that neither Hank nor Logan had been around much this week. She knew they were needed elsewhere and didn't blame them for it, but it did leave her and a skeleton staff struggling to manage things. Paige and Jono were doing their best, but neither Remy nor Joanna was much help. Substitute teachers around here knew well enough to pretend they weren't home when she called. 

It was with some relief that she spotted Logan's motorcycle coming up the driveway on the monitor in her office, and Kitty gladly abandoned the papers she was marking in favor of going down to meet him at the door. He'd have the latest news from Avengers Tower, if nothing else. 

Her timing was good; he was coming in just as she reached the door. "Hey, darlin'," Logan greeted her, his voice low and gravelly. It took an unholy amount of stress and fatigue to make Logan look tired, but he was just about managing it right now. "Good news, finally."

Somehow Kitty didn't think he was about to tell her that Scott and the others had showed up alive and well. She didn't have that much optimism left in her soul. Still, at this point she'd take what he could get. "Do tell," Kitty invited, striving for a dry tone as she looped her arm through his. 

"The Shi'ar negotiators agreed to take Hank's proposal back to Gladiator," Logan said as they headed down the hall. "If he okays it, it's a go."

Kitty breathed out on a sigh. It _was_ good news, or at least progress. Hank's latest idea had been to talk the Shi'ar into helping them test Tony Stark's device. If they could find a patch of uninhabited space in the Phoenix's path, there'd be no collateral damage if the Phoenix reacted badly or the prototype malfunctioned. Kitty's heart had skipped several beats when she'd first heard about it, but Hank had assured her they could do it close enough to a stargate that the ship could jump away almost immediately if it had to. 

Still, even if it wasn't quite a suicide mission, it was unbelievably dangerous. Kitty was worried about Hank and how clear his thinking was (or wasn't) on this. Guilt could make you take risks you usually wouldn't, and she knew he was still tearing himself to pieces about Abigail and her role in the attack on Utopia. She just hoped that the other Avengers were keeping a close eye on him. 

"Are you going?" she asked Logan. _Do I get to worry about both of you out there?_ As if it wasn't bad enough wondering whether all her missing friends were still alive. She'd had to wrestle with some real guilt of her own these last few days. She'd been so brusque with Rachel the last time they'd talked, and there was so much she hadn't said to Piotr. Never mind how little effort she'd made to even try and stay in contact with Ororo and Illyana since she'd left Utopia. Being busy with the school wasn't an excuse. 

"I thought about it," Logan muttered, sounding bitter, "but something like that, I'd just be another passenger. Couldn't do anything but watch." She could feel the muscles in his arm twitching, as if he was repressing the urge to pop his claws. "Sitting back and watching. You'd think I'd be used to that by now."

Kitty sighed. "Logan..."

"I know. Kicking myself ain't productive," Logan conceded, then frowned. "Something else is up, though. Steve was squirrelly."

Kitty felt her eyebrows head for her hairline. "Did you just call _Captain America_ 'squirrelly'?" she asked, feeling her lips twitch helplessly. It was probably the first time in a week she'd even felt the urge to smile. 

Logan snorted almost unwillingly. "Yeah, okay. I'll make sure I don't repeat that where the kids can hear it. Still..." The frown lingered. "Not like him to space out during a briefing, and he slipped out before I could talk to him."

"They probably needed him back at SHIELD." But Logan's instincts were generally good, and Kitty grimaced, adding another worry to the pile. She just hoped that whatever Logan had picked up on wasn't another complication. _Because the situation is hellish enough as it is._

"Maybe. But the man's mind was definitely elsewhere." They were approaching Logan's office door, and Logan's frown abruptly deepened as he sniffed. He stopped, shifting his grip on Kitty's arm to keep her from going any further either. "You didn't mention we had company."

"... I didn't think we did," Kitty said, suddenly apprehensive. Just because she hadn't seen anyone on the monitors didn't mean someone couldn't have teleported in, though they _should_ have heard an alarm if that was the case. "Should we-" _Call for back-up,_ she intended to say, but there was something about the look on Logan's face that made her hesitate. He didn't look like he was ready to fight. He looked... relieved?

Logan was already shaking his head. "I think we can handle this ourselves." Letting go of her arm, he went over to the door and pulled it open, standing there in the doorway and blocking her view of the room. 

There was a moment of silence that seemed almost charged, then Logan sighed. "You look like crap, Slim."

Kitty gasped, and phased through the wall and into the office without an instant's hesitation. Scott was standing by the windows, wearing civilian clothes and his glasses instead of his costume and visor. He was unshaven and exhausted-looking, and the lines of pain in his face made her slow down as she approached, and hug him a little more carefully than she really wanted to. 

He was alive. That was the important thing. Alive and on his feet, which was more than she'd expected given what she'd heard about how badly hurt he'd been. 

"You couldn't have let us know where you were?" she asked shakily, not letting go. "How is everyone? Do you need medical supplies? I can put together whatever you need from our infirmary, just say the word-"

Scott detached her gently. "It's all right, Kitty." He sounded as weary as he looked. "Emma had Josh waiting for us. Everyone's recovering, although he had to take more than one crack at some of us."

Which meant there'd been a lot of badly injured people and Josh had pushed his abilities to their limits. Kitty swallowed, not knowing whether she dared ask about anyone in particular. But Scott shook his head, somehow picking up on what she wasn't saying. 

"We didn't lose anyone after we left," he murmured, then looked past her to Logan. "I'm just here to talk. If you'll hear me out. If not, Magik can have me out of here as soon as I signal her."

Kitty looked back over her shoulder at Logan, and knew he'd read the plea in her eyes. She didn't have to say it aloud. _Fix this. Please, figure out a way to fix this..._ They couldn't change what had happened, but if the two of them would just _talk_ , they could maybe stop it from getting any worse.

"I can give you two some time alone?" was what she said aloud, as calmly as she could. 

After a long moment, Logan nodded. "Yeah," he said, his eyes locked on Scott. "That'd be good, Kitty."

Kitty looked back at Scott. He was always hard to read given that you couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't have that stone-faced, uncompromising look on, the one that had irritated her so often during those last few months on Utopia. He looked... uncertain. She could see it in his body language, too, which meant that Logan _had_ to be picking it up. 

"Either of you need me, just yell. I won't be far." She found herself blinking back tears suddenly as she looked up at Scott. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scott. This shouldn't have happened. I... I thought we should bring the ones who didn't have family to the cemetery here. Once SHIELD releases the bodies, I mean."

Scott gave her a faint smile, one so tight with pain that she had to blink even more furiously to hold back the tears. "Whatever you think is best, Kitty."

Nodding jerkily, Kitty hugged him again, because she was out of words and she needed to do _something_. With a last pleading look at Logan she left the office, closing the door quietly behind her. She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. It struck her that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on the monitors for a while again. Just to make sure nothing interrupted the two men back in the office. She suspected that a lot depended on just how well that conversation went.

* * *

As the door closed behind Kitty, Logan kept watching the man by the windows, struggling with the emotions stirred up by the sight of him. The anger that would have been there a few weeks ago wasn't gone entirely, but there wasn't much left of it. Not in the face of the guilt and grief that had been burning inside him like acid since he'd seen Utopia in flames from the Blackbird. 

It hadn't been six months since he'd threatened to blow up Utopia himself, trying to force Scott to evacuate the island when the Hellfire Club's super-Sentinel had been on its way. He'd been so hell-bent on making the stubborn bastard _see_ that standing his ground wasn't worth sending kids onto the front line, whatever Scott might tell himself about there being no such thing as a non-combatant anymore.

Just thinking about that now made him sick. Steve had told him a few days ago that Scott _had_ evacuated everyone but the teams from the island when he'd first found out about the Sh'iar threat. If Scott had done that, it meant that what Logan had been trying to tell him hadn't fallen on deaf ears, or maybe that those ears had never been as deaf as he'd thought. Which only made him feel worse - not about leaving, but about not coming back _before_ it was too late to do anything but count the dead. 

"Sit down before you fall over, Scott," he finally said, gruffly. Scott gazed back at him for a moment, then went over and sank down in one of the chairs. He picked the farthest one from the desk, and part of Logan couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. Instead of sitting down at the desk himself, Logan took the chair opposite Scott's, just as deliberately. 

He studied the other man more carefully, noting the way Scott's shoulders slumped and the tension in his posture that wasn't entirely about being here right now, talking to him. He smelled like he was hurting. If Foley had done what he could and Scott was still feeling it, he'd had one hell of a close shave.

"I didn't meant to deprive you of half your staff," Scott said abruptly. "Just... thought I'd get that out there." 

"... they went where they figured they were needed. I'm not holding a grudge, and you can tell them that for me," Logan said, more tightly than he should have. But it had rankled. Not that they'd gone, but the fact that he and Hank had been so completely shut out of the matter. Like they were potential hostiles just because they were Avengers as well as X-Men. Utopia had been his home once, too. The dead and injured were sure as hell his people, his family. Whatever had happened between him and Scott, nothing changed that. 

"Still." Scott rubbed at his unshaven jaw, his hand a little unsteady. "You wanted me to keep my distance. I did. I made _sure_ that I did, once the Shi'ar showed up... I never wanted to endanger the school, Logan. It's why I didn't call."

Logan stiffened in his chair at that, his jaw clenching as he fought back the red haze creeping in at the edges of his vision. "Damn it, Scott. I thought-" He stopped, swallowing back the rest of the words. Because they weren't fair, and in the face of what Scott had just said, it was hitting home just how unfair he'd actually been. _I thought you were being stubborn. Or too proud._ Or that Scott had been trying to make some kind of point that he didn't really need the X-Men who'd gone with Logan to the school. 

It had all gotten so fucked up, he thought bitterly, guilt warring with the anger and winning out. Everything had been so clear a few months ago. Now it was all muddy as hell. Right, wrong, ends and means...

"I suppose I thought you might hang up, too. If I called," Scott said after a moment, sounding as if he was forcing himself to say it. "But it was mostly the school. The idea of the Shi'ar designating it as a second target. I couldn't... I just couldn't." He looked around, and the hurt in his scent took on a different, sharper edge, something that wasn't just physical pain. "I've seen this place blown up too many times in my life."

Logan took a deep breath. Told himself to focus on the here and now. "Steve's been looking everywhere for you," he said gruffly, trying to buy himself time to figure out what he really wanted to say. What _needed_ to be said. "Even pulled your brother in, hoping he'd agree to play middleman. Suppose you probably know that, though."

Scott nodded slowly. "Alex knew my back-up plan," he said wearily. "I wasn't expecting Rogers to go to him, but yeah, he filled me in on what happened on the Helicarrier."

"So you know what Steve's planning. Might be a good time for you all to come in from the cold, Slim," Logan said, choosing his words as carefully as he could. Scott had come to him. That meant something, didn't it? Maybe that he was willing to listen, but that he needed to hear it from someone he knew better than Rogers. "We can work something out. This doesn't have to be run through SHIELD..."

"Logan." Scott looked up at him, and the look on his face was so raw and tired that Logan fell silent. "I didn't come here to get Rogers' pitch from you," he said hoarsely. "I came because there's something you need to know, you and Hank. I just... don't know if you'll believe me."

"...try me," Logan said after a moment, feeling a little uneasy suddenly. There was this edge of desperation in Scott's scent that hadn't been there a moment ago, as if a wall had just come down. 

"The Avengers... they _can't_ drive off the Phoenix. Even if Stark's device works. You can't let them do it."

"... _what_?" That was just about the last damned thing he'd expected to hear coming out of Scott's mouth. Logan stared at him, confused and suddenly suspicious. But no, this 'Extinction team' bullshit aside, there was no way Scott wanted the Phoenix to come to Hope just to have access to that level of power. He hadn't changed _that_ much. _Unless the attack's convinced him that he needs it..._

"Slim," he said slowly, "you of all people know what it might do to Hope. She's never been all that stable to start with. Even with Cable back... I saw those kids, Scott. Teon and Gabriel. Put them in bodybags myself." Two of her Lights snuffed out, two of her friends murdered by people trying to get to her. He remembered when they'd first arrived on Utopia, the first new mutants since M-Day, and he grimaced at how much the memory hurt. "You going to tell me she's handling that okay? You can't give the Phoenix to a grief-stricken kid, Scott. Setting aside all the crap with the Shi'ar, it's just not right."

"She's not a kid, Logan," Scott said after a moment, his voice still hoarse. "She's her father's daughter. Rachel and Nathan are still working with her. They're back at the safehouse right now, training. Hope's angry, she's grieving, but she's determined to do this." Scott took an unsteady breath. "We have to figure out a way to let this happen, Logan. We _have_ to. You don't understand."

He had a strange sensation like they were teetering on a precipice, like the next words out of Scott's mouth were going to change everything. "What don't I understand, Scott?" Logan asked slowly, watching the other man very closely. 

"Maybe Rogers and the others don't see it, but you and Hank should have. What do you _think_ is going to happen when a girl who can activate and stabilize mutant abilities gets the power of the Phoenix, Logan?"

And the bottom dropped out of the world.

Logan stared at Scott, stunned to the point of speechlessness for a moment that felt like it went on forever. It was so fucking obvious, now that it was out there. It _should_ have been obvious to him and Hank all along, Scott was right. 

"You think she can reverse M-Day," he said, the words coming out ragged, a bit breathless. 

"Not just me. Nathan, Rachel, Emma, Hope herself," Scott said, the words spilling out almost frantically now, as if he was ready to plead with Logan if he had to. "They all believe it. And... _it_ does, too."

The hair on the back of Logan's neck stood straight up as Scott's meaning hit home, but Scott went on, his voice tight and pained. "Hope had a... partial manifestation. Knocked all the psis for a loop, which made sense, and me, which didn't. Except that when I was out, I... saw Jean. Remember how she looked the last time we saw her? The white and gold..." He waved a shaking hand around at the office. "We were here. I didn't realize, at first; I thought it was just the Professor's office. But she made me see clearly. She told me that it wasn't just my decision to make."

He believed every word that he was saying, Logan could smell the truth in the words. It sounded utterly fucking crazy, but Logan had _been_ there when Jean's spirit had merged with the Phoenix. He knew damned well she was out there somehow, part of that cosmic firebird, maybe forever. 

Scott had seen Jean. And Jean had sent him _here_. 

"This school... _your_ school. It was the right thing to do, Logan." Scott was staring at the floor, emotion chasing emotion across his features, guilt and regret and sorrow. "I've done a lot wrong. Made a lot of bad choices. I could say something about not being able to see the trees for the forest, but what it comes down to is that you were right. There have to be lines we don't cross, or we stop being human." A faint, almost desperate smile tugged at his lips as his gaze strayed back towards the window. "She would have loved this," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Absolutely loved it. I mean, she would have drowned you in the lake for naming the place after her, but..."

"Wouldn't have done it if she'd been here to bitch at me for it," Logan muttered feebly, his throat so tight he could barely force the words out. 

Scott made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh. "Probably not. But... you know it can't last, right? A few more years, maybe five, tops, and there won't be any more students. The halls will be empty for good."

Logan felt very cold suddenly. Cold and tired and _old_. Because he knew Scott was right. Right now, there was no future for the school. There'd be no more kids soon. Sooner than he liked to think, there'd be no more adult mutants either. Even those few who were lucky enough to live to old age would pass on eventually. The realization that he might very well outlive every other member of his race had come to him before, but somehow it had never hit him as hard as it did right now. 

"The school's here now because it needs to be," Logan said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I'm... not looking that far ahead."

"But you can. _We_ can. If we give Hope her chance. The empty halls don't have to be the future. I... I don't _want_ them to be. This is all that's left, Logan. All that has a chance of lasting." Scott gave a shaky, breathless laugh too full of grief to be a laugh, really. "Utopia's gone. I can't even regret it. It meant nothing, absolutely fucking _nothing_ in the end. We didn't build anything. Oh, we held our ground, but when it came right down to it, it didn't do us any good. All that mattered were the _people_ , and I couldn't save them. Our friends, the people who trusted me..." 

"Scott, goddamn it, _stop_." Logan rasped, his hands shaking. "Don't-"

"That's all I've got." Scott slumped in the chair. He sounded drained, defeated. "I suppose you've got to tell Rogers what's going on. I imagine it won't mean much. All they'll see is the Shi'ar and the Dark Phoenix-" 

"Do I have to punch you in the jaw to get you to shut up for a minute and let me get a word in edgewise?" Logan barked at him. Scott stopped, his eyes widening behind his glasses – and then gave an abrupt, faltering laugh at the look on Logan's face.

Logan shook his head, grimacing under his breath. Trying not to smile, because this all hurt too damned much to be funny, even if this was one of those situations where you either laughed, cried (or perforated someone, if you were him). 

"You're not the only one who was wrong," he said roughly, meeting Scott's eyes squarely. "What you said, about not being able to see the trees? Maybe that's all I was seeing. I've never been much of a big picture guy, you know that. And I didn't try to make things right. I walked away, divided us." He swallowed past the tightness in his throat. "Left you and Ororo out there to take all the incoming fire," he muttered, and didn't even try to keep the pain out of his voice. "Maybe things would've been different last week if I hadn't."

"Nathan would say 'what is, is'."

"Your son's as much of a jackass as you are, but he occasionally has a reasonable way of looking at things." Logan took a deep breath, then looked across at his friend. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for not being there. I should have been. You willing to let me help now? Even if I fucked up?"

Scott rubbed at his jaw, his eyes falling for a moment, but Logan saw his eyes close behind the glasses, as if in relief. "You know," he pointed out, "we have a pretty good track record of fucking up together and somehow having it all come out comparatively well in the end. So... yes?" He looked up, with just the faintest hint of an unsteady smile.

"Good," Logan said gruffly, baring his teeth in a fierce, challenging grin that was entirely for show. They'd both gone as far as they needed to, said what needed to be said. There was a little room for pride now, and something told him Scott needed it as badly as he did. "Because I'd hate to have to beat sense into a convalescent."

Scott actually snorted at him, if wearily. "The optic blasts still work just fine, Logan-"

And the whole world exploded in noise and light. 

_Not_ the ruby light of Scott's optic blasts, as much as a dazed, thoroughly irrational part of Logan's brain wondered in that moment if Scott had decided to demonstrate what he'd just said. It was burning white light, meant to blind, and sonics meant to deafen. 

_Flash bang,_ part of his brain thought as his senses went into overload. He could still smell, though, and he was picking up the ozone stink that he'd always associated with teleportation. That and several new scents, none of them human but all of them unfamiliar in a way he recognized... 

_Shi'ar._

Blind or not, he came up off the floor with a roar, lunging in the direction of the closest of those scents, his claws already out. But lances of fiery pain peppered him from multiple directions and he hit the floor again, his healing factor struggling to keep up with the damage. 

"-down, Logan." He barely managed to hear the familiar voice through the buzzing whine that still filled his ears. _Warbird._ Her scent was distinct from the others, enough for him to be sure. "-not... for you-"

Logan snarled past the blood in his mouth and tried to haul himself back up, willing to give in to the berserker rage if he had to. Because if they didn't want him, he knew who they _did_ want.

Another barrage of fire came at him, one shot going right through his throat, and he fell, choking on blood. Sometimes willpower wasn't enough. Sometimes the damage was too much, and all he could do was lie here, twitching and coughing up blood and screaming inside his own head...

He blacked out. Next thing he knew, there was a slender form leaning over him, indistinct in the white haze still clouding his vision, and he flailed and snarled as he lashed out instinctively. His claws passed harmlessly through the person, and that told him it was Kitty, even as his vision cleared.

"-okay, Logan, it's me, calm _down_!" she said rapidly, her words audible ever over the whine still dulling his hearing. Logan laid back, his breath rasping in his chest as his lungs struggled to work properly again. Only then did he realize that Kitty was in tears - angry tears, from the look on her face and the edge to her scent. 

"Scott?" he rasped. 

"They teleported out with him. I'm such an _idiot_ ," she choked out, and the guilt was rolling off her in waves. "All our Shi'ar systems, Logan, I never _checked_ them, I never thought for a moment they'd be using them to watch us-"

 _Not your fault,_ he wanted to tell her, but didn't have the breath for it just yet. They should all have known. All that worrying about the Sh'iar designating the school as a target, and none of them had stopped to realize that the school might be more useful to the Shi'ar as a trap. Because Gladiator _knew_ them, had known them for years...

"They locked the whole school down remotely," Kitty said, wiping at her eyes. "The kids are still shut in their rooms. I went through the walls, but I couldn't get here in time to help."

"Leave the kids where they are," Logan grated as he managed to sit up. He spat blood, trying to clear his mouth, but didn't try to suppress the rage. He was going to need it, to kill every single one of the bastards who'd just invaded his school and get Scott back. "Get the phones working, Kitty. Call Alex. I need to talk to 'Ro, _now_."

* * *

"I'm... still not sure I understand, Wanda," Steve said, and admitting that aloud only made him more uneasy about all of this. He lowered himself into the chair opposite Wanda's, watching her and trying very hard not to sound as cautious as he felt as he went on. "What connection could there possibly be between you and Hope?"

He'd smuggled her off the Helicarrier last night and brought her to one of SHIELD's New York safehouses. It had been pure instinct rather than strategy, hiding her away like this. After everything that had happened, he thought it would be a very bad idea to expose Wanda to the shock and hostility she might still find herself facing from some of the Avengers. The X-Men's reaction didn't even bear thinking on. If Wanda was... _stable_ right now, he didn't want to risk changing that. The consequences could be catastrophic. _Had_ been catastrophic, in the past. _One global-level threat at a time,_ he'd thought a bit wildly while making the arrangements to get her back groundside. 

And even if she was in her right mind, if the information she was offering him was accurate... he didn't know _what_ to do, whether to make use of it. The instant he decided to chase the X-Men, he risked the situation spinning even further out of control. 

"It's not Hope herself," Wanda said softly, sipping at a cup of tea. She looked tired and almost fragile. Steve had asked her last night if she was ill - she certainly looked it - but she'd claimed she simply hadn't been sleeping well. He was positive there was more to it than that, and _that_ worried him, too. "It's what's happening around her. Reality is changing - or beginning to change. I can feel the ripples. You might say she's the stone thrown into the pond."

His unease ratcheted upwards a few notches. Wanda being this oblique about _changes in reality_ was terrifying, as much as he tried to tell himself to think past the fear and _listen_ so that he could figure out what was beneath the fanciful imagery. She wasn't talking about manipulating those ripples herself. That was something. 

"So... is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he ventured finally. "Should I be going after her or not?"

"I can't tell you what to do, Steve." Wanda gave a soft, almost despairing laugh. "Those ripples will span the whole world before they're done. Your strategy and tactics _have_ to be your own. We've already seen the consequences of my choices on a global level." The sadness surrounding her was an almost palpable thing, and she seemed to wilt a little farther into her chair, her hands trembling slightly as they folded around her cup. "I'm trying to be careful here. I truly am."

"I know. I know you are." That much he could see, and Steve took a deep, steadying breath. If he couldn't risk pushing her too hard, maybe there were other ways to decipher what she was saying. "Maybe... would you be all right with bringing a few more people in on this? Strange, or Reed Richards?" Both of them could be trusted to be careful. To treat her gently. 

"I will speak to whoever you need," Wanda said simply, and Steve frowned at her, at the strange passivity. He was reminded of how she'd acted when she'd been confronted by the X-Men, after she'd reclaimed her powers. The same... self-effacement, as if she had set herself and her own needs aside completely and was willing to do whatever was required, to take whatever anyone dished out. 

He wanted to remind her that none of this was her fault, that Doom was ultimately to blame for her breakdown and what she'd done, to the Avengers and the X-Men and mutantkind itself. But he knew she didn't consider herself any less culpable. In her place, he probably would have felt the same way. 

"Why did you think I needed to know where she was?" he asked finally, trying a different tack. If she felt she couldn't tell him what to do, maybe she could tell him why she'd come, what she was worried about. She could share her fears without giving him advice on how to address them. Maybe that would let her speak more freely.

Wanda considered the question for a long moment, tilting her head slightly. "Because she's in danger," she finally said. "The Shi'ar are tampering with forces they can't hope to control. They'll do more damage to themselves and to all of us, trying to steer the course of events in a way that meets with their approval." She gave him a tiny, pained smile. "I know a little something about being the victim of that. I don't want that for her."

"You say that, and it makes me think I should be shuttling back up to the Helicarrier and setting a course for her location right now." He hadn't asked for coordinates yet. Not until he was sure of what he wanted to do. "But the fact that you won't _tell_ me whether that's the right course of action is making me hesitate."

"If you reach into the water to retrieve the stone," was Wanda's quiet reply, "you cause ripples of your own. New ripples, that change the shape of things just as irrevocably."

She _was_ answering him, Steve thought. In vague, philosophical generalities, but there was something very concrete there, beneath it all. "What about the other X-Men?" he asked abruptly. "Where do they fit into all of this?"

"You really don't understand," Wanda murmured, those brilliant eyes searing into him until he could almost _feel_ the weight of the burden she was carrying. Like the whole world was on her shoulders, slowly but surely crushing her. "They're the water."

"The _water_ -" But Steve was cut off as Wanda gasped, the china cup dropping from nerveless hands to land on the carpet and the color draining from her face. He was out of the chair in a shot, crouching in front of her. "Wanda?" he asked sharply, reaching out to take her hands. They were so cold to the touch that he jerked in surprise. "What is it? What's happening?" He glanced worriedly around at the room, but everything seemed to be staying where it was. Nothing was changing - _here_ , at least. 

"Too late," she murmured through pale lips, and Steve's heart froze in his chest. "Checkmate."


	10. Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shi'ar decide to stop playing nice. The Phoenix decides it's had enough of this crap. There may very well be "Dark" times ahead.

Hank would never be sure who had dragged him onto the escape pod. It had all simply happened too fast. They'd been in the Peak's operations center, trying to analyze a set of ambiguous energy readings coming from the Shi'ar ship in lunar orbit. One senior tech had suggested it was a teleportational signature; his equally senior colleague had disagreed, and given that they were in a period of high solar activity, the Peak's sensors were not as precise as they should be. Hank had been attempting to mediate the debate when another Shi'ar warbird had decloaked at point-blank range and opened fire on the station.

The Peak's shields had held up to the first broadside, but not the second. At that point, it had been a foregone conclusion; hull plating, however well-armored, had precious little stopping power in the face of plasma artillery. The second broadside had been carefully targeted to take out their communications array, so there had been no chance for a distress call. With more fire incoming, evacuation had been the only option and Hank had held out as long as he could in an effort to coordinate things. But then the console in front of him had exploded, and the last thing he'd felt before blacking out were hands pulling him up off the floor.

He'd regained consciousness in the pod as it was thrown away from the station, barely ahead of the shockwave of the final, catastrophic explosion that had torn the Peak apart. Half a dozen other SWORD officers had made it to this pod as well, most of them injured. Trying to block out the pain of the burns on his hands and arms - and unless he was very much mistaken, he was also concussed - Hank maanged to assemble the shreds of his concentration for long enough to recruit one of the less badly-injured officers to help him open a channel to SHIELD headquarters. They managed it mere moments before the worst of reentry began and pinned them to their seats. Hank found himself fighting both gravity and the nauseating pain of the burns to gasp out the information that SHIELD and the Avengers needed.

"This is McCoy - the Peak's been destroyed. The Shi'ar are trying to blind us... be aware, you may have incoming!"

* * *

Wanda hadn't been able to explain what she'd meant by 'checkmate'. Even as Steve had tried to get her to focus on him, to tell him what was happening and why she seemed so terrified, she'd gasped out something about "three in one" and then fainted dead away. Before he'd been able to call in medical assistance for her, the emergency call had come in from the Helicarrier with the news of the Peak's destruction.

At that point he'd had no choice. He'd had to leave Wanda in the hands of the security detail at the safehouse and get to where he was most needed. He left them with strict orders to contact him immediately if she regained consciousness and said anything else ( _even if it seems incoherent!_ he had ordered them), but once he was back on the Helicarrier's bridge there was little time to try and decipher her words. The first reports from SHIELD headquarters were coming in, and the news wasn't good.

_Two_ previously undetected warbirds, not just one; the third was still in lunar orbit, but two was more than bad enough. Both of them were on a direct course for New York. They could be heading for SHIELD headquarters, or possibly Avengers Tower. Worst-case scenario, they were targeting both, and maybe even the city as well. Clearly the negotiations had been a ruse. Steve only hoped Hank's escape pod made it back. They needed information more than anything else. Simply _reacting_ rarely ended well.

_Of course, that's presuming we make it through today..._ "Set an intercept course," Steve ordered grimly, knowing very well that the Helicarrier's armaments were no match for _one_ Shi'ar ship, let alone two. "Tell headquarters to prepare for possible aerial bombardment, and get me the Tower."

It all depended on what the Shi'ar meant to do. A ground assault was one thing; they could mount a defense, in that case. But Steve couldn't help but imagine those Shi'ar ships firing on New York as they had on Utopia, and if the Helicarrier's drives weren't already redlined, he'd have ordered them there.

"We're short-handed down here, Cap," Tony reported from the Tower, his voice sounding tense over Steve's earpiece. "They've caught us with our pants down."

"Do what you can," Steve said tightly. "We'll send you real-time updates on their trajectory. " At least until their target became obvious, or they no longer had the ability to transmit. "See if you can't raise Logan at the school. That might be the closest source of reinforcements."

"Got it. You try and keep that Helicarrier in the air, all right? It's brand new." 

"I'll do my best," Steve said more quietly. "Good luck to you too, Tony."

* * *

He hadn't heard Alex's half of the conversation, but he hadn't needed to. Nathan had sensed the cold fear and anger go through Ororo like a great wave as she listened, and however carefully she'd been guarding her thoughts, he'd known in his heart that it had something to do with Scott. It had been a bad idea, going to the school. He'd tried to convince his father of that, but Scott had been absolutely set on it, as if it was somehow going to solve all their problems. 

_We need Logan,_ Scott had said, too quietly. He'd been subdued and oddly withdrawn after regaining consciousness in the wake of the Phoenix-manifestation. _Him and the others. I shouldn't have let this go on for so long. Enough people have died because I had to do this my way, and I won't lose anyone else._

Blaming himself. Putting himself in danger, because he'd been determined that only a face-to-face conversation would do, that Logan wouldn't believe him if he didn't do it in person where his sincerity would be in his scent as well as his voice. He'd insisted on going alone as well, which to Nathan's mind was utter lunacy, but arguing with him had been so clearly futile. 

And so Nathan had waited, his nerves shredding a little more with each minute that had passed since Scott had teleported to Westchester. When Ororo had ended her call with Alex and hustled him and Emma upstairs to speak to them in private, he'd been expecting the worst. The only surprise was that it hadn't been Logan calling in the Avengers to take Scott into custody, but the Shi'ar staging a raid on the school. Which was infinitely worse. 

"We have to move quickly," Ororo concluded, her voice unsteady. She was clearly shaken, but Nathan could feel her trying to think past the shock and the worry, to strategize. "We should send one of the teleporters for both Alex and Logan."

" _No!_ Not a chance in hell," Nathan snarled. His hands were shaking. They itched for his psimitar, but it was in another room and it was probably excessive to be waving it around right this second, however much part of him wanted to. "Alex, fine. He _should_ be here." Scott was his brother, and Alex knew more about the Shi'ar than any of them. "But if Logan comes here, Hope and I are _gone_ , Ororo."

"Nathan!" She didn't quite snap at him, but she came close. The air in the room was suddenly prickly and charged, and under any other circumstances Nathan would have taken a wary step back. But right now he didn't give a damn. "This was _not_ Logan's fault! He wants to help, and if our safehouses are compromised, we need all the help we can get."

"I do have others," Emma said. She had barely reacted to Ororo's news, at least on the surface. Part of Nathan had wanted to shout at her, to ask her if she'd somehow failed to process what Ororo was saying, but her shields had been up, as cold and flat as her expression, and there was no telling what they hid. "Safehouses, I mean," she went on, her voice cool and remote as their attention shifted to her. "Scott had me prepare two more and keep the locations from him. A failsafe. I would suggest we start moving people out as soon as possible. We have a certain window - Scott won't give up information without a fight - but it will close at some point."

Ororo took a deep breath, her hands unclenching at her sides. Her voice was steadier when she continued, and the air had cleared. "I should have expected the two of you to make additional plans. I agree completely; we should begin the evacuation at once. But we also need reinforcements, and we cannot afford to pass up the ones being offered. With Logan would come the other X-Men at the school-"

"This is the man who manipulated my daughter into agreeing to let him _kill_ her if he decided she was dangerous!" Nathan raged at them, and suddenly both women were giving him wary, startled looks that only made him angrier. "I am not letting him near her, I am _not_!"

His father was in the hands of one enemy, and he wouldn't bring another to within striking distance of Hope. Erik and Namor were both in Goa, and Nathan suddenly, passionately wished they weren't. _They_ would understand. 

"Logan is an X-Man, Nathan," Ororo said slowly, watching him as if she expected him to explode. As if he were the danger here, not the volatile killer who'd abandoned her and Scott once already, who considered himself judge, jury and executioner. "After everything that has happened-"

" _I am not letting him kill another one of my children!_ "

"Nathan." Emma moved suddenly towards him, her hands outstretched, palms up in a strangely conciliatory gesture. The neutral mask was cracking, and beneath it was pure, unmasked alarm. Even so, it didn't reach him. Couldn't reach him. "Listen to me. Take a breath. You have to calm down."

Calm? How was he supposed to be calm? The anger flooded up inside him like a wave of fire, burning so hot it all but blotted out rational thought. Dom. Scott. _Hope._ He couldn't lose anyone else, he _couldn't_...

His hands were glowing. Red-gold flames licked up and down his arms, and the words he'd been about to snarl at the two women died on his lips.

"What's happening?" he breathed - and then heard and _felt_ Hope scream. He was still there in the room with Ororo and Emma, but in the same moment he was also outside the chalet. Not in body, but in Hope's mind as she went to her knees on the grass, fire billowing around her. Seeing what she saw. Feeling what she felt.

And then he was in Rachel's mind as the same thing happened to her. Fire everywhere, flowing up and down the ties that bound them together, and the lines between them began to blur.

* * *

She wasn't seeing this, Betsy thought incredulously. Surely, she wasn't seeing _two_ firebirds. _Hope_ was the Phoenix host. Even the Shi'ar had been convinced of that! And it had unquestionably been Hope who had manifested the Phoenix yesterday, even if Betsy had been unconscious by the time she'd flown down to the chalet. But now, that familiar fiery shape was forming around both the girl _and_ Rachel, two sets of burning wings unfolding skyward, and Betsy was at an utter loss. There was nothing in the X-Men's experience with the Phoenix force to explain this, nothing at all. _Two hosts at the same time? How is that even possible?_

#Keep clear of them!# Emma's voice snapped, directed not only to her but also the other X-Men who'd run outside in response to Hope's scream. It was good advice, Betsy reflected and took a few long steps back, tugging Bobby with her. On the other side of the two... Phoenixes, she supposed she needed to call them at this point, she spotted Piotr trying to pull Illyana away. Magik looked both fascinated and strangely amused, although God only knew what she could possibly find funny in this situation...

In the air, Rogue came whipping around the corner of the chalet - only to reel backwards, barely avoiding a collision as Nathan floated down from the balcony to join Rachel and Hope. He was glowing just as fiercely as they were, and by the time he reached the ground, the fire surrounding him had taken on that same familiar winged form. Not two, Betsy thought, stunned. Three.

Three Phoenix manifestations. Hope with her uncharted catalytic powers, and two of the most powerful psis on the planet. It seemed impossible, but it was happening.

Rogue landed just short of where Betsy stood with Bobby, her eyes so wide and shocked that it was clear she was struggling to process what she was seeing. "How's this even possible?" she said uncertainly. "All three of them? At once?"

"I don't know," Bobby breathed, "but I think I can hear Shi'ar heads exploding from here."

Betsy ignored him and focused, struggling to keep her shields intact as she reached out with her telepathy to the three members of the Summers family standing on the grass. Even the slightest moment of contact was like staring into the sun, and she felt her defenses start to fray almost immediately. They weren't attacking her, but the sheer amount of psionic force they were generating was colossal, like hurricane winds pushing at her mind. It was painful just to be this close. 

#Emma,# she went, withdrawing and reaching out to her fellow telepath. She felt Emma bring Ororo into the link as well. #This is... nothing we could have expected. _Look_ at them.#

Observing was less overwhelming than trying to make contact. With that mental step back, what they were looking at became more clear. It was the Phoenix, that much was undeniable. But it was... balanced somehow between the three of them, those turbulent energies weaving around and between them in smooth, flowing patterns. The patterns were familiar, Betsy realized. They echoed the psionic exercises Rachel and Nathan had been doing with Hope, day after day for all these weeks. _Apparently Hope wasn't the only one being prepared..._ There was some form of energy emanating from Hope, mingling with the Phoenix-fire. Not quite psionic, it reached out to Rachel and Nathan, and it was... shifting the patterns of their own power-signatures, altering them in subtle yet profound ways. There was no sense of strain in how they held the Phoenix, but instead, absolute assurance. As if all three of them had been born for this. 

Their astral forms shone like stars - no, like pulsars keeping the same rhythm, as if their very heartbeats were synchronized. It was one of the most beautiful and terrifying things she had ever seen. And yet, she got the unmistakable sensation of _distance_ again, just as she had with Hope's first manifestation. Radiant as it was, the light was still only reflected.

#Yes.# Emma sounded almost calm, but there was an impression of tight control there, of stronger emotions carefully suppressed. It didn't seem to be focused on the spectacle before them, at least not entirely. Something had happened before this new manifestation, Betsy knew, although she'd refrained from trying to eavesdrop when Ororo had drawn Emma and Nathan aside to talk in private. #I think we're in uncharted territory now.#

_Can either of you reach their minds?_ Ororo's mental voice was crisp and strong, if overlaid with apprehension. _We must convince them to power down. Too many parties are capable of tracking an energy signature this powerful._

#I can try with Rachel, but what provoked this?# Betsy asked, or started to. Because something was changing. The firebirds were growing brighter, more sharply defined, and the power pouring through the three minds was increasing rapidly. 

And all they had done was join hands. The fact that Betsy wasn't reaching out with her telepathy no longer protected her. The power built and built, until there was a newborn star blazing into life on the astral plane. Betsy felt like she was standing in the midst of the firestorm, battered by forces that tore through her shields as if they were tissue paper. She slumped to her knees, barely conscious of Bobby swearing and lunging forward to catch her. 

#... Emma,# she managed feebly, #Emma, I... can't...#

This was too dangerous. They could tear apart the fabric of the astral plane without even meaning to...

* * *

They floated amid the fire, and did not burn. It might consume them, they might lose themselves to it, but it belonged to them and they belonged to it and there was no need to be afraid. Its anger was powerful, seething in every flicker of flame, but they knew it wasn't directed at them. It was _purposeful_ , in a way that touched that same ferocious, intent rage in Nathan - and then in Rachel and Hope as well, as they saw in his mind what the Shi'ar had done. Who they had taken. 

#They keep taking and taking and _taking_ ,# Nathan snarled, and the flames surrounding him shaded closer towards red, like sunlight seen through a haze of blood. 

#It's what they do. Bastards.# Rachel's thoughts were full of the faces of the Grey family, slaughtered by the Shi'ar.

#My friends, my home...now my _family_?# It was a cry from Hope's heart, terrified and angry at the idea of another loss. #This has to stop, how do we make it _stop_?#

**_They don't understand us at all._** The voice from the fire was like thunder. It was everywhere, reaching every corner of their shared awareness. **_We only burn away what doesn't work. What tries to stop us from doing our work. They presume. They dare._**

It showed them two Shi'ar warbirds, screaming through the atmosphere towards New York, to target the Avengers and SHIELD but also the city itself. An object lesson, to prove to Earth that the Phoenix should not be harbored, that acquiescence to Shi'ar demands was the planet's only means of survival. The strategy was clear and transparent in the minds of the Shi'ar captains. They would destroy the city, and if that didn't work, they would target another, and then another. There would be more ships sent, as many as was required. 

But even as they declared war, they would pursue the hunt. No mutant with a connection to the X-Men would be safe. Some would be potential sources of information. Others would be used as leverage. Scott would be only the first. They would begin with him, break him for everything he knew. He was Vulcan's brother. The Shi'ar would _enjoy_ doing it. Righteous revenge and a righteous cause. 

#Dad. They'll take him from me too.# Wounds that had only begun to heal were ripping open in Rachel's mind, bleeding fire. 

#He'll fight them.# Hope's words trembled with anger - and an echo of guilt, for all the things she should have said to Scott and hadn't. #He'll fight, and they'll kill him because he doesn't know how to give in...#

#Slym,# Nathan thought, and surrendered himself to the fire. No one else was going to be taken from them. If he had to burn down the whole Shi'ar Imperium to stop it, he would. _No more._

Their anger swelled into immensity, fanning the flames even higher. Their rage, _its_ rage, there was no difference, no dividing line. A fury that could shatter planets strained at the few restraints that remained, demanding to be released with the scream of a titanic raptor. 

**_Enough interference,_** it said. **_We will not be manipulated. We will not be attacked. No more lights extinguished._**

Faces in the fire. Teon. Gabriel. The Grey family. Domino. All the mutants killed on Utopia.

**_Make them pay. Make them burn._ **

The three became one, and the one slipped out of reality and onto the astral plane, covering thousands of miles in an instant and emerging like a second sun over Jamaica Bay.


	11. Blowback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shi'ar versus the Phoenix Three for the fate of New York City. Place your bets.

With a new Helicarrier had come a new captain in charge of the day-to-day operations of the vast ship. Steve had appreciated Brandon Vance from their first meeting, both professionally and personally; the Navy captain had a cool head and the right mixture of experience and mental flexibility to make the transition to SHIELD successfully. Two months into the job and he had already demonstrated the ability to get the highest possible level of performance out of the ship and her crew. 

Unfortunately, it didn't look like that was going to be enough. "Fire!" Vance ordered for the second time, and Steve watched as the Helicarrier's guns erupted with enough firepower to level a city block. Just as it had the first time, the incoming fire splashed harmlessly against the shields of the Sh'iar warbird, not slowing it for an instant in its descent towards New York. They might as well have fired a broadside of firecrackers, for all the good it had done.

Vance looked back at him with a grim shake of his head, and Steve heard a few scattered, muted reactions from various corners of the bridge occupied by more junior personnel - indrawn breaths, one soft curse. The more senior members of the bridge crew were focusing on their individual stations and responsibilities with the grim determination of soldiers who knew they were heading into a situation where they were overmatched.

"Closer?" Steve suggested to Vance, his voice tight. "Those shields can't be impenetrable." The warbird was shrugging off missiles from the fighters of the air wing just as easily, but they might be looking at a situation where both volume of fire and close proximity were required to do any good. 

Vance nodded. "Helm, try and close the gap between us and the warbird," he ordered. 

'Try' being the operative word, Steve thought as the great ship shuddered under him as its engines were pushed to their limits. The Helicarrier was slower and less manueverable the Shi'ar ship, and their chances of closing the distance in time weren't good. The second warbird was completely out of reach and clearly heading for SHIELD headquarters, but he'd had no choice but to let it go and leave them to their own defense. Protecting the city had to be a priority.

"We're not going to reach before they reach the city, sir," the senior officer at the helm said. "We just can't match their speed."

"If you can't get us on an intercept course, get us on a pursuit course for now," Steve said to Vance, who nodded brusquely and relayed the order. There was one other option, and they both knew it. Steve didn't want to take it, but if there was no other option, they could damned well try and ram the thing. For all of its disadvantages, the Helicarrier _was_ much larger. They'd even be able to get the majority of the crew off in escape craft if they timed things just right...

"Sir!" It was close enough to a shout of alarm from the operations officer that Steve's head whipped around immediately. "We've got a _massive_ energy signature taking shape over Jamaica Bay!"

_Good God, what now?_ "Let's see it," Steve ordered, leaving it to Vance to manage the pursuit. His screens lit up, and he found himself staring down at a huge ball of incandescent light, almost like a miniature sun hanging over the water. It was nowhere near either of the Shi'ar ships, and it didn't appear to be moving...

An instant later, it broke into three parts. Like a flower with three petals opening, except they weren't petals, they were _birds_ , giant birds of fire. Massive wings outstretched as they peeled away from each other and headed on different trajectories, blazing across the sky like comets.

_Three Phoenix firebirds._ Three _of them._ "Three in one," Steve whispered under his breath. Wanda had told him. None of the background material on the Phoenix had even hinted at the possibility, but somehow she'd known. They were going to need to talk about that more. If they all lived through this. "Get me a channel to Iron Man right now!" he snapped.

* * *

"Cap, we've got multiple squads of Shi'ar commandos down here," Tony said rapidly as the coms officer on the Helicarrier patched Steve through. It was chaos already, people running and screaming and the Shi'ar firing at everything that moved. He'd engaged one of the squads himself, but the aliens were demonstrating enough of a variety of power sets that he was having trouble keeping himself alive, let alone taking them down. He dodged a barrage of plasma blasts, and spun in mid-air to fire at the flier pursuing him. At least if he kept their attention on him, more of the civilians could get out of the area.

"There's no answer from the school," he went on hurriedly, ducking beneath more blasts and then pouring on the speed as he blasted skyward. A quick course change, one that his pursuer couldn't follow in time, and his next blast took the commando squarely in the chest, sending him (or her, it was hard to tell) spinning downwards to the street. "If you've got any more bright ideas for reinforcements, I'm all ears-"

"You've got the Phoenix incoming," was Steve's completely unexpected answer, and Tony nearly flew _into_ , rather than around the building. "The Helicarrier's got eyes on three firebirds heading into New York."

"I'm sorry, did you just say-" He stopped talking, because there was something very large and very bright coming hurtling down West 52nd Street directly at him, and evasive action was all he had on his mind for a moment. He managed to avoid a collison - just - but the wake of the giant firebird's passage was enough to knock him out of the sky. He hit the ground hard enough to see stars, even in the armor, but launched himself back into the air almost on instinct, even as his head was clearing.

It was clear enough. He saw the firebird land, saw the red-haired young woman at the heart of it, and part of him reflected dimly that as pissed as Rachel Summers had been the last time they'd met, it was nothing compared to the incandescent rage boiling off her now. He could feel it. He didn't have so much as a flicker of telepathic ability, but the anger and the sheer _hate_ was almost a physical thing, like he'd stepped too close to a blast furnace.

" _You wanted a Phoenix host?_ " Rachel was utterly transformed, her hair turned to flame and her skin glowing from within. She seemed to be wearing... armor of some kind, glowing red and gold like the flames surrounding her. Tony was fairly sure she was speaking aloud, but her voice was echoing in his mind as well, carrying a resonance that wasn't quite human. " _Come and get me, you murdering bastards._ "

And they did. They charged her, every single one of them, and every single one of them burst into flame, as if they'd spontaneously combusted inside their armor. Most of them fell immediately, writhing and shrieking. A couple kept trying to get to her, including the armored giant who'd seemed to be in charge of the group. Rachel merely reached out with fiery talons, snatching him up and tearing him in two, tossing the pieces aside almost casually.

Tony swallowed back the taste of bile and told himself that the remaining civilians needed to be out of here, _now_. He dove towards where a man was trying desperately to pull a woman from the wreckage of a car that had taken one of those plasma blasts a couple of minutes ago. With Tony's help, she was out in seconds. She didn't seem too badly hurt, so he handed her over to her agitated companion and instructed them both to get to shelter ASAP.

He turned back to Rachel just in time to see the last of the Shi'ar fall. "Hey!" he called warily, not entirely sure he wanted to draw her attention. Even less sure, when the firebird turned and eyes like burning emerald locked on him. "Rachel," he said cautiously, hovering and being sure to keep some distance between them. "Thanks for the assist. Are you-"

" _I'm not finished,_ " she said, aloud and in his head. " _There are more of them to kill. I'm going to kill them all._ "

_Keep her talking,_ he thought. He knew enough to know that a Phoenix talking about burning and killing was _not_ a good thing, and if he could just reach her, get her to calm down a little, maybe she could get herself back under control. "Okay, taking out the rest of them is good, I'm fully on board with that, but we need to-"

And then the fiery talons were grabbing him, slamming him against the side of a building - not piercing or tearing or burning, but tightening just enough to remind him that they could. **_#No planning,#_** her voice thundered in his mind as those burning eyes bored into him, the firebird around her growing too bright to look at. **_#No cooperation. No mercy for them, and none for you if you get in our way, either!#_**

She flung him away like an angry child might fling a toy. He managed to right himself mid-air and avoid hitting the ground, but by then the firebird was soaring skyward, with a cry that shattered every intact window on the block.

"Cap," he said, breathing hard. The front of his armor was blackened, as if it had been charred. "We have a _real_ problem down here."

* * *

Even with a starship on its way to bomb them to kingdom come, SHIELD headquarters had still managed to track teleportational signatures and send the likely coordinates of the Shi'ar ground troops to the Avengers. Clint had arrived at this particular scene in the nick of time; he wasn't sure how many people were actually pinned down in the Chinese restaurant, but there were nine Shi'ar commandos who appeared to be preparing to bring the place down on their heads. _Yeah, can't have that..._

Clint took two of them down with his first two arrows. But the third went right _through_ another of the commandos as the alien suddenly... dissolved, shifting to some sort of gaseous form. Then the others were turning on him, realizing there was resistance here after all, and Clint leapt from his perch on the roof as energy blasts of at least three different types came his way. The fire escape on the side of the next building was what he was aiming for, and he caught it - but only briefly, as he lost his grip an instant later and started to fall.

Someone caught him well before he hit the ground. "I would have hated to see you try and stick _that_ landing," Sam Wilson said, sounding only a little out of breath. Wherever he'd come from, Clint thought, Falcon had particularly brilliant timing today. "You want another roof?"

Tempting, but now that he had some backup, priorities needed to shift. "No, let's get that restaurant evaced," Clint said. There were several abandoned strollers lying in the street, which meant that at least a few of the people inside were carrying kids, which would make them more vulnerable if they made a run for it. Sam banked in the air, coming around the side of the building and back onto the street, and Clint swore as he saw what was flying towards them. "Oh, _shit-_ "

Sam had excellent reflexes; he managed to turn on a dime and get them back around the corner of the building, which shielded them at least a little from the wake of the giant firebird. Even so, the shockwave sent them tumbling out of the air and into a tangled heap on the pavement. The sound of shattering glass was loud enough that a dazed Clint had to wonder if every window in the neighborhood had just exploded. _Get up, Barton,_ he told himself, hauling himself back to his feet. Sam was doing the same. The Shi'ar had gotten the worst of it, they saw; the aliens had been tossed around like rag dolls, and a couple were very slow to get up.

That said, the Shi'ar seemed... kind of secondary at the moment. "Jesus," Clint said, staring at the firebird as it hovered above the street. Somehow the file footage hadn't done it justice. 

"... damn. That's the girl, isn't it?" Sam said from behind him, sounding stunned. "I thought the Phoenix wasn't here yet?"

"So did I." But that was definitely Hope Summers, floating in the heart of the giant firebird, wearing some kind of shining green and gold... armor? It looked like armor. For all that she was recognizable, there wasn't much human left about her. It was like she was some sort of... translucent shell, holding nothing but fire. "That's fucking terrifying, actually," Clint muttered aloud, more to himself than to Sam. But they still had civilians pinned down in that restaurant, and if she was going to keep the Shi'ar busy...

The pavement underneath the firebird erupted upwards, a giant hand that seemed to be made of rock and dirt reaching upwards and grabbing at Hope. She didn't even bother moving; the hand disintegrated into ash, everywhere that it came into contact with the flames. Clint heard a strange, grinding scream that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath his feet, and then Hope _was_ moving, the talons of the firebird stabbing into the earth and pulling out a vaguely bipedal, rock-like form that thrashed and screamed as it started to _melt_.

"This isn't going anywhere good. We've got to get those people out of here," Clint grated, and took off at a run across the street. _Just getting the civilians, just the civilians,_ he thought over and over, on the chance Hope would hear him. Phoenix hosts were telepathic, or so the briefing material had said. Though even if she could hear him, he didn't know if she would; all the Shi'ar were focused on her now, the energy-projectors who'd been trying to take him out now directing all their fire at her. She made for one hell of a distraction.

Sam flew ahead of him with a quick shout that he was going to check for a back exit. Clint nodded and headed into the restaurant, calling out immediately reassurances as his sudden entrance was greeted with screams.

"It's all right - I'm with the Avengers, I'm here to get you out!" He was counting rapidly, even as he spoke. Nearly two dozen people, including the mothers with small children that he'd expected and a number of elderly people, a couple of whom worried him with how unwell they looked. Fortunately, the handful of construction workers who'd probably been on their lunch when the attack had started were amenable to being delegated. Sam called to him from the rear of the restaurant, and between the two of them, they got the whole group moving even as the sounds of energy blasts from outside on the street were turning into screams instead. It sounded like the Shi'ar were good and occupied.

They almost made it. They'd gotten everyone out of the building and all but the stragglers moving rapidly in a direction _away_ from the fighting when an armored Shi'ar commando abruptly shimmered into view, as if he'd just decloaked himself. He raised the staff in his hands, and a blast of emerald light cut through two of the construction workers and the elderly woman they were half-carrying down the street. One shot, and three civilians dead in an instant. Despite the rage Clint felt, his hands were absolutely steady; the arrow he sent back at the Shi'ar went right through his armor at the shoulder. If he'd been human, it would have gone right through his heart. Sam dove and snatched the woman with the baby who'd been only a step ahead of the other three, getting her out of the line of fire. Clint notched another arrow, ready to finish the Shi'ar off, but then the air was on fire as the Phoenix came screaming towards them - literally _screaming_ , sounding enraged and anguished at the same time.

" _No!_ " Hope howled at the downed Shi'ar, tears of fire pouring down her cheeks. " _Stop it, stop **killing people!**_ " The firebird's claws grabbed him, and then smashed him against the ground, again and again, enough to turn flesh and blood into pulp inside the armor.

Clint glanced back in time to see Sam hustle the last of the civilians around the corner of another building and out of sight. He turned back to the Phoenix, keeping the arrow notched, and was rewarded by new targets - _more_ Shi'ar, not the ones from the street, advancing on Hope from behind. The arrow took the one in the lead through the throat, and it seemed to snap Hope out of her blind rage.

She dropped the corpse and whirled on the new Shi'ar with another scream. The cry sounded more like it came from some giant, unearthly hawk than a girl. " _Why?_ " She was still crying, and part of Clint reflected that the only thing more frightening than a teenaged girl with cosmic power was a distraught teenaged girl with cosmic power. " _Why can't you leave them alone, what did they ever do to you-_ "

"Stand down, Starchilde!" another of the commandos shouted in accented English. He had balls, Clint had to give him that. "If you want to avoid further casualties-"

" _ **GO TO HELL!**_ " The words ripped through Clint's brain like knives, and he sagged to his knees on the pavement, blood streaming from his nose as if she'd just punched him in the face. But like with the shockwave that had knocked him and Sam out of the air, he was just collateral damage. All she wanted was the Shi'ar, and even with his eyes watering with pain from the screaming headache that was trying to blow up his skull from the inside, he saw what she did with them.

It was fast. That was about the only consolation any of them probably had; the firebird touched them, and they burned. Hope was still weeping fire as she launched herself back into the air, Clint could see that much. If the Shi'ar had any sense, he thought, hauling himself back to his feet and shaking his head in a dogged attempt to clear it, they'd be teleporting back to their ships and getting the fuck out of Dodge. Promptly.

* * *

Headquarters had gotten a reprieve. The other warbird had turned around as soon as the three Phoenix firebirds had appeared, and was on it way back. Its sister ship was already engaging the firebird that hadn't headed directly into New York, and Steve raised a hand to shield his eyes as it opened fire with a broadside that dwarfed the volume of fire the Helicarrier was capable of producing. He heard Vance ordering their planes to fall back to defend the Helicarrier, getting them out of potential crossfire they couldn't possibly survive. 

"Cap!" It was Tony in his ear again, still sounding out of breath. "The other firebird is Hope. Hawkeye says she just took down two squads of commandos and flew off looking for more. Who's the third?"

_Hope. Of course it's Hope._ This was all starting to make a certain amount of sense. Still, Steve glanced down at his screens again almost involuntarily, as if to remind himself that yes, he was seeing what he was seeing. Despite the massive interference this much energy was causing, the Helicarrier's sensors had managed to get a clear view of the figure at the heart of the firebird. There was no mistaking their third Phoenix's identity. 

"It's Cable," he said tightly, and heard Tony swear. 

"What the fuck is going on? How are there _three_ of them, and what the fuck is it with that family and that damned bird?" 

"No idea. Do what you can to keep things together down there," Steve said. One problem at a time. They had to get New York through this first. If the Phoenix had decided to be an ally today, he'd take it. "As long as they keep targeting those commandos, just stay out of their way. Things are about to go critical up here." 

The warbird fired again, another colossal explosion of heat and light. It sent the Phoenix reeling backwards in the air, the firebird-form briefly losing cohesion. The Shi'ar ship banked, coming back around to take another shot - and in doing so, made the mistake of giving Cable a moment to recover. The raptor-scream was audible in the mind and the ears alike, and everyone on the bridge was deafened by it, a couple of people falling right out of their chairs as they grabbed at their skulls with screams of pain of their own. 

Steve caught at the console to support himself, forcing his watering eyes to focus as the firebird reformed - and grew, swelling into immensity. It had been big already. Now it was half the size of the Helicarrier, bigger than the Sh'iar warbird. Its flames were more red than gold now - _angrier,_ a distant part of Steve somehow recognized - and it let out another one of those shattering screams as it dove towards the starship, fiery talons outstretched. 

The warbird tried to fire again, but this time, the broadside was as ineffectual as the Helicarrier's had been. The Phoenix flew right through and grabbed the Shi'ar ship, breaking its back like a dry stick. Hull plating shattered, debris raining down into the water as secondary explosions tore through the warbird. The drives went an instant later, and the remains of the ship detonated in a blinding explosion of white light. 

The shockwave reached the Helicarrier and Steve braced himself as the great ship lurched, its engines screaming. Threatening to stall. He heard Vance calling out orders almost calmly, absolutely focused on what needed to be done to keep his ship flying. Steve left him to it. He watched, waiting for the afterimage of the explosion to fade. It did just in time for him to see the firebird arrest its tumble backwards, righting itself in the air. The second warbird was incoming, barely clearing the tops of buildings as it shot over the city. 

Cable waited, let the second warbird come to him. Then, floating almost calmly at the center of the firebird, he raised a hand - and the starship froze in mid-air. Its drives flared brightly as it tried to break the telekinetic grip, but it was futile. "My God," Steve heard Vance breathe as the warbird's hull plating started to peel away. 

The first warbird had died quickly. This one wasn't destroyed but... disassembled, piece by piece. First the hull, then the bulkheads. Then Cable went deck by deck, like the ship was an onion and he was separating the layers carefully, almost meticulously. There were no secondary explosions, just the odd flicker of energy discharge from carefully severed conduits.

And the crew was still alive. Steve could see them on his screens, floating high above the water in Cable's telekinetic grip as their ship disintegrated around them. Then, one at a time, they each went up like Roman candles. And the whole time, the Helicarrier's sensors showed Cable looking skyward rather than at what he was doing. His gaze seemed locked on something far beyond the atmosphere, and he wore one of the most implacable looks of hatred that Steve had ever seen.


	12. Burning White Flags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix saved New York. That doesn't mean it or its hosts are kindly disposed toward the Avengers.

She was tired. It had been easier to focus, to think past the heat and light and _power_ that filled her mind when there'd still been Shi'ar to kill. But they were all dead except for a few, and those would be soon; Hope could feel them in Rachel's sights, sense their terror. _She'll take care of them._ All Hope wanted right now was somewhere to rest for a little while. 

The big park had been tempting, but it was too close to the center of things; they'd find her too quickly if she stayed there. So she'd flown a little farther and found another green space, smaller and quieter. There was a building there that looked different than anything else she'd seen flying over the city - older, somehow out of place with its square tower and narrow windows. But it was surrounded by gardens and trees, and there were places to sit and look out at the water. It would do. 

She landed, stumbling a little with weariness as the wings of the firebird folded behind her. It contracted, shrinking to a more manageable size, although she couldn't seem to make it go away entirely. Rubbing at her temples, Hope took a few steps and then sank down onto the grass beneath a tree. _I wish there'd been more of them to kill,_ she thought, letting her eyes close. 

What they'd done wouldn't be enough. The Shi'ar would just keep coming. She'd seen it in them, that dedication, that... fanaticism. They hated the Phoenix as much as they feared it. They couldn't, _wouldn't_ understand, and so they'd keep trying to get to her, to Rachel and Nathan now as well. The people she loved were still in danger, and so were innocent people who had nothing to do with her or the X-Men or mutants. 

_We'll just have to keep killing them first._ She'd been angry earlier, angry and upset, but she felt almost calm now. Maybe it was being able to sense the fear ebbing from the astral plane as the people of New York started to realize that the attack was over. It felt like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. 

The faces of the people she hadn't been able to help - the ones whom the Shi'ar had killed before she could kill them - lingered in her memory, and she grieved for them. But the city was still here. Not burning like Utopia had burned, and that meant a lot...

"Hope?"

Hope opened her eyes, looking up at the blonde woman who drifted down out of the sky to a soft landing on the grass. " _You're Carol Danvers,_ " she said after a moment. " _I've read about you._ " An Avenger, but a friend to the X-Men. No real threat, Hope thought, even if she decided to try and be one. 

Carol smiled a bit crookedly, regarding her closely. "I've read about you too, Hope. Are you all right?" Hope nodded, and Carol crouched down so that their eyes were at the same level. She hadn't moved any closer, though. Hope could sense... concern and wariness, but if there was any fear there, it was buried very deep. 

_Kind of nice,_ she thought, and decided to save Carol the trouble of figuring out a gentle way to phrase what was on her mind. " _You want me to come with you,_ " she said. As much as she'd practiced with Nathan or Rachel's telepathy, this was so much _more_ ; she could read Carol like a book. " _I don't know if I should,_ " she said more slowly. " _Nathan... he thinks something will happen to me if I'm with the Avengers._ "

"So I've heard," Carol conceded quietly, tucking blonde hair behind one ear. "But I think the situation is a little different now than it was next week, don't you?"

" _You're right,_ " Hope said. " _If I went with you, there's not much chance any of you could actually hurt me._ " Part of her relished the flicker of unease that crossed the older woman's face, and if she'd had a mirror to assess the smile that tugged at her lips, Hope would have recognized it as her father's, detached and wintry. " _Yeah. I meant that exactly the way it sounded,_ " she confirmed and stared Carol down, the flames rising above her and darkening to a deeper red-gold. " _No one gets to decide what to do with me anymore._ "

Carol raised both hands, a placating gesture. Hope relaxed a little, sensing the caution in the other woman's thoughts take on an edge of respect. "You and your aunt and your father saved this city today," she said steadily. "Millions of people, Hope. And we never meant you any harm to start with."

" _No, but you were going to try and drive it away._ " She would have been angry, seeing in Carol's thoughts what the Avengers had been planning to do, but she was _so_ tired. " _It's why I was born, and you were going to use Stark's stupid gun to try and take our last chance away from us. It would have just laughed at you, you know. The Phoenix. It's too big for that, for... clever little machines,_ " Hope said, weary but defiant. " _And it wants this too much to let any of you stop it._ "

Carol was silent for a moment. Hope had to appreciate the fact that she was thinking about what she'd been told, not just reacting. "There's a lot we don't know," she said finally. "About the Phoenix. We'd like to know more. Why it's here, what it wants. There are a number of people who've wanted to talk to you for a while, Hope. Could you... explain things to them? Help them see what's going on?"

" _Maybe._ " She felt restless, despite the exhaustion. The Phoenix was still angry, rumbling like thunder in the distance. There was something here that was dangerous, some... potential chain of events she wasn't seeing clearly. Nothing came to her, though, and Carol wasn't here to hurt her. That much she was sure about. " _But I just... I'm tired. I want to sit here for a while, okay?_ "

They could give her that, at least. Nathan and Rachel were finishing things elsewhere, but they didn't need her help. She could take some time to find her center again. 

"Sure," Carol said more softly. "I'll stay with you, though. If you don't mind?"

" _Knock yourself out,_ " Hope said, leaning back against the trunk of the tree behind her. She closed her eyes again and just let herself drift as the fire wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and comforting. Nothing could hurt her. Not unless she let it.

* * *

Rachel had cornered the last of them in front of the Met, which hadn't surprised her. Of _course_ they would strike at a landmark where they could be assured of a significant number of potential victims, many of whom would be tourists who wouldn't have any idea where best to hide. Easy prey. That was the way their sick minds worked.

" _That_ is _what you were thinking, isn't it?_ " she asked the Warskrull she had pinned to the pavement with one set of fiery talons. There had been a Warskrull in that first group of Death Commandos, the ones that had killed her family. Rachel remembered that very clearly. " _Predictable. You're such... small, vicious things._ "

The Warskrull convulsed, the stream of snarled profanities turning into screaming as the talons pierced his body and telekinetic force tore through his internal organs. Easy to do, even to a shapeshifter. An energy blast came at Rachel from one of the other surviving commandos. She blocked it as casually as she might have brushed away a fly, then grabbed the female commando with the other set of talons. Their sniper opened fire from a short distance away, and Rachel immolated him with a thought, ignoring him as he ran for a few screaming steps before he collapsed to the ground. 

Not for the first time that afternoon, she reflected on how different the Phoenix felt than it had before. Oh, it was completely unlike the blue shadow of the Phoenix she'd held in Shi'ar space, but she'd expected that. What surprised her was how... controlled it felt. She'd warned Hope about the risks of anger, but as furious as she had been earlier (and still was) there was no... dangerous shower of sparks as the flames roared higher. Her sense of self remained secure. She wasn't soaring with the fire, but rather channeling it. Something had most definitely changed. 

The Warskrull thrashed a few more times, then went limp. Rachel turned her attention to the female. " _You remind me of one of your predecessors,_ " she said, staring down into the alien's eyes. Not exerting any pressure, not just yet. She could take her time. She _wanted_ to take her time. " _Hypernova. She murdered my uncle Roger. He was a jazz musician._ "

"If you're going to kill me, Starchilde, kill me!" the alien spat at her. An actual Shi'ar, unlike so many of the other commandos. Not that Rachel had any mercy in her for the subject races who took service with their Shi'ar overlords. 'Just following orders' was no excuse. "Do it and spare me your whining! Everyone that dies is on your head, for letting that star-eating monstrosity inside you-" 

The firebird lifted its claws and then slammed the Shi'ar woman back against the ground, hard enough to shatter bone. " _Why should I spare you anything?_ " Rachel hissed softly. Savoring the anger. " _None of you did me that kindness, did you?_ "

The firebird swelled around her, twice, then three times its original size and burning crimson-gold. " _I should go back to Chandilar and burn it to a cinder,_ " she told the badly injured woman. " _That's what you expect, isn't it? Only fair that we should live down to your expectations-_ "

"Stop!" A different voice - a _thunderous_ voice, quite literally. Rachel looked up, her eyes narrowing as she saw Thor floating down from the sky, followed by Iron Man. 

Her eyes narrowed even further at the man in his battered red and gold armor. " _I told you to stay out of my way, Stark,_ " she said coldly, although her attention shifted warily back to Thor. The Phoenix rumbled dismissively in the back of her mind. They could take him. 

"Yeah. I know. But here's the thing, Red," Stark said, and the flippant tone in his voice was entirely false (and rather brittle). "You're the only one of the three of you who's done this before, right? So how about you set a good example for your brother and the kid and _not_ start raving about how you're going to burn inhabited planets to cinders?"

" _Who's raving?_ " Rachel asked, tossing the dying commando aside like the trash she was. " _It would be one way to solve the problem._ " Of course, they wouldn't be able to stop with Chandilar. The throneworld alone wouldn't do it.

"I like to think that planetary annihilation should never be option A," Stark retorted. "Killing the other side's civilians isn't going to help-"

Rachel launched herself back into the air, giving herself over to the fury once more. She wasn't going to listen to this, to the Shi'ar being defended by anyone. **_#There are no Shi'ar civilians,#_** she snarled at him, and Stark was falling out of the air, clutching at his helmeted head. **_#They're killers from the fucking cradle-#_**

Thor just shook himself, as if shaking off a passing reverie, and threw Mjolnir at her. It knocked her out of the air, down to a hard impact with the front steps of the museum. It didn't hurt, of course. Nothing could hurt her. Not unless she let it. Rachel gave a wild, contemptuous laugh and rose back into the air to face him. 

**_#Try that again, little god. I dare you.#_ **

"Stand down, Phoenix," Thor said in a voice as deep as the thunder that rumbled in the sky above as storm clouds started to gather. "I honor what you have done here today, but please - stand down now and savor your victory."

**_#I'd rather bounce your head off the pavement a few times, Thunderer. You lost the right to tell me what to do when you and your fellow Avengers left us to burn on Utopia,#_** Rachel hissed and launched herself towards him. 

She was met by thunder and lightning, wind and snow, and the Phoenix's fire only burned hotter as she slammed into Thor. But he was stronger than she'd thought, and Mjolnir was back in his hand, slamming again into the firebird, accompanied by an even more powerful bolt of lightning. Her scream merged into the scream of the raptor, and they went spinning down the street, locked together in combat. 

"Stand... _down_!" Thor roared at her, the winds screaming around them. Lightning slashed into the firebird, strike after strike, and he was battering her with Mjolnir as if he was trying to beat the Phoenix out of her. Rachel screamed right back at him with the great raptor's voice, and his armor started to smoulder, even in the snow. 

In an instant, he had brought them around the far end of the museum and into Central Park. Thor flew them right at the ground, the impact plowing a deep furrow into the Great Lawn. Rachel managed to fling him off, but stumbled as she tried to rise. The firebird was suddenly flickering and collapsing around her, as if all of her energy was suddenly draining away. She went to her knees, barely aware of Thor rising and keeping his distance. As if he was giving her a moment. 

"... I'm sorry," she muttered faintly, and her voice came out sounding like her own. "I... probably shouldn't have done that. If I promise not to burn any planets, could you stop hitting me now?"

His footsteps came closer. "I know the warrior's madness all too well," she heard him say. "I hold no grudges, Phoenix. Rest now."

Dimly, she heard and recognized the sound of Stark's suit thrusters. But by then, she was already slumping the rest of the way to the ground, curling up in the rubble.

* * *

He had missed trees. It seemed like such a strange, trivial thought for a day like this, but in so many of the centuries where he'd raised Hope the land had been dead, nothing but irradiated wastelands stretching out as far as the eye could see. Utopia, for all its virtues, had been nothing but rock, a fortress rather than a living place. Riverside Park was no Ebonshire, but it was alive. He could sit here and listen to the birds in the trees, and _breathe_.

Nathan settled on the grass, the firebird's wings folding behind him as his shoulders slumped with weariness. He drifted for a little while, lost in the impossible intensity of the world around him. The smell, the color, the sound of the wind through the leaves. It was all so vivid, as if all of his senses had grown unnaturally acute. 

That was the key. The Phoenix wasn't just power. It was a whole new level of awareness, one that taxed the limits of the human brain, even a psionic one. Right now, he could see every mind in the city as an individual point of light, rather than the usual mass of tangled imagery and white noise. He could focus on whichever mind he chose, or draw back to a distance and see the city like an endless field of stars. Easier to do the latter right now. Easier just to drift. 

In the distance, he could feel Hope, unhurt but just as tired as he was. She was somewhere like this, he thought, somewhere green and quiet; he'd go to her soon. Once he'd caught his breath. Rachel was out there too, and she was...

Screaming. Nathan stiffened where he sat, the wings of the firebird ruffling in agitation. Why was Thor there? Unless...

He forced himself to focus, and saw that Hope wasn't alone either. She was drifting off to sleep and Carol Danvers was sitting right there, watching her. Waiting. Nathan was on his feet like a shot, the firebird's wings beating in agitation as they spread across the grass. 

" _No. Oh, no,_ " he muttered, fighting not only exhaustion but also the panic that started to build, fraying at his control. " _No, I did not just walk us right into this-_ "

"Cable? Who are you talking to?"

He whirled towards the source of the voice, and the red-haired woman in black took a step back, watching him warily. "Easy," Natasha Romanova murmured, raising both hands to show she held no weapon. 

It didn't really matter if she didn't or didn't. The red giant behind her was weapon enough. The Red Hulk hadn't stepped back when she had, but moved forward instead, yellow eyes locked on Nathan. His mind was an open book, and Nathan sensed him sorting through memories of his battles against other powerful beings, Thor and the Hulk and even the Silver Surfer. 

" _Sizing me up, Ross?_ " Nathan asked, the fear settling into anger that burned like icy fire. The firebird burned brighter in reaction, and Romanova raised a hand to shield her eyes. " _Tell Danvers to back off and leave my daughter alone. Before I get over there and make her._ "

He rose into the air, already focusing on Hope's location. They would do what he'd told them or they wouldn't; either way, he'd be with her in a few minutes and it would be moot. But before he'd passed the level treetops, something slammed into him from behind, with enough force to have shattered every bone in his body if he hadn't been holding the Phoenix. The impact was still enough to send him flying across the park, right through a stand of trees that shattered as if they were matchsticks.

He hit the ground hard enough to feel it through the firebird. In the distance, he heard someone - Romanova - shouting, but it didn't matter. He was in the air again in the next instant, turning to face the Red Hulk as the giant approached. 

"You don't get to make any more threats, Cable," Ross growled, massive hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You got a pass for the freighter. You don't get another. Now sit _down_ and wait for Rogers, or I swear I'll beat that damned bird right out of you."

**_#I seem to remember taking you down on that freighter when I was dead on my feet and all but burned out,#_** Nathan snarled, and had the satisfaction of seeing the giant totter, those yellow eyes unfocusing with pain at the force of the telepathic projection. **_#Things have changed, in case you haven't noticed. So I think_ you _should sit down and wait for Rogers.#_**

Ross roared and leapt at him in the same instant, blindingly fast for someone that size. Nathan didn't react in time to fling him away, but fiery talons closed around the giant's body, and what should have been invulnerable flesh started to scorch. Ross just roared again, pounding away at the firebird with massive fists. Nathan felt every blow. It shouldn't have been possible, but he did. 

"Stop!" Romanova was shouting. "Stand _down!_ "

"Tell Danvers to get the girl away!" Ross shouted back at her, and Nathan saw his prediction come true, finally and utterly. Rogers's attempt to take Hope into protective custody back on Utopia had been only a foreshadowing of this moment. This was the truth. They would dress it up in concern for her welfare, in the need to defend Earth against the Shi'ar, but they would take her. They would take her, and do their best to take him out of the equation so that he couldn't protect her. It was happening. Right now, it was happening. 

"This the best you've got, Summers?" Ross snarled. He kept pounding away at the firebird, the flames flaring erratically with each blow and pain searing through Nathan's awareness. He should have been able to turn off the pain, he realized dimly. The Phoenix was trying to tell him how...

"You're just talk," Ross growled. "Talk and pyrotechnics, that's all you are-"

**_#No. Actually... I am fire and life incarnate. And you... can go fuck yourself.#_ **

The firebird went white - blinding, searing white, and swelled into immensity. Ross was flung away like a rag doll, and Nathan rose back into the air, turning on him. 

**_#You really want to be an object lesson?#_** he roared at Ross, the sky over Riverside Park blotted out by white-gold flames. The exhaustion he'd felt earlier was gone, burned away by pure and focused fury. There was Hope and there were the people who threatened Hope. That was all.

* * *

"Dear God." Erik breathed as they stepped through Illyana's portal and into Riverside Park. 

The sky was blotted out with white-gold fire, as if they stood beneath a giant dome of it. Emma knew at a glance that it was the astral plane bleeding over into the physical world. The walls grew paper-thin when there was this much power gathered in one place, straining at the seams of reality. And paper burned. 

"Not the word I'd choose," Emma murmured, eyes locked on the giant firebird at the heart of the disturbance, "but not entirely inappropriate. He certainly is doing his best impression of an angry god at the moment." She watched the firebird dive towards a massive red-skinned figure, snatching him up and then slamming him into the ground - once, then again. 

Impressively, the Red Hulk was still trying to fight, but that only seemed to make Nathan more furious. The telepathic raptor-scream was deafening enough that Emma immediately shielded her companions. They were no good to her if they wound up curled in fetal balls on the ground. 

Erik pointed out the black-clad figure sprawled on the grass a short distance away. A moment later, Emma was offering the same telepathic protection to Natasha Romanova, as well as a hand up as the woman struggled back to her feet. 

"A good rule of thumb when dealing with volatile cosmic forces is to avoid aggravating them," Emma said to the other woman, her voice brittle. The firebird screamed again, slamming the Red Hulk back and forth as if beating a rug. "Something tells me that this situation was not handled with care, given that there's an Avenger over there being tenderized..."

Romanova was shaking off the daze with what Emma, under other circumstances, would have admitted was admirable speed. "My fault. I should have told him to hang back and let me handle it," she said tightly, but wasted no more time with self-flagellation. "What do we do? Is there a way to get him to power down?"

"Several. But I require space and the assurance that no additional superheroes are about to arrive and make things worse. Tell your team to keep clear of the area. Speaking of which... Magik?" Emma said crisply, turning to Illyana. "See about removing the Red Hulk to a safe distance before Cable finishes killing him, please. And ensure he _remains_ at that safe distance."

"Easily enough done," Illyana said, vanishing through another disc. As Nathan flung Ross across the park with another cry of rage, a third disc opened directly in the Red Hulk's path. He fell through it and was gone in an instant. Straight into the Atlantic, Emma hoped. 

"We need to be closer, Erik," she told him. He nodded and slipped an arm around her waist, levitating them both into the air and towards the now rather frustrated-seeming firebird as it screamed at the spot where the portal had been, great wings beating in fury. 

"He's not about to turn on us, is he?" Erik asked almost casually as they floated through the charged, heavy air. "I'm not sure entirely sure how to counter that in a non-lethal fashion."

"I don't think so. We may have taken his toy away, but he's not that far gone." Far enough gone that she was worried, however. His psi-signature was afire, the intricate patterns of energy that made up the personality that was Nathan Summers fraying apart from the inside under the stress. He was terribly angry about something, angry and afraid, and it took a moment of ferocious and almost painful focus for Emma to push past the roaring flames in his mind and see what it was. 

"Oh, for the love of God," she hissed, short and aggravated. "Why didn't they just wave a red flag in front of him and have done with it?"

"'Not handled with care' was a bit of an understatement, then?" Erik murmured.

#'Botched' is the word coming to mind,# she answered telepathically. #Set me down in front of him, Erik. Then get back to Romanova and have her contact Rogers. Tell him that Hope needs to be handed over to us _immediately_. Make it Namor - he can probably get to Fort Tryon Park the fastest. But ensure that Rogers understands that our little prodigy needs to be back in X-Men custody promptly. Unless the Avengers want to be dealing with an omega-level psi gone Dark Phoenix on top of the Shi'ar invasion.#

_Is it that bad?_ Erik thought back at her bleakly, no trace of the black humor in the words. 

#Not quite, but it might expedite matters.# Emma took a deep breath as her feet touched solid ground. Erik withdrew quickly, but Emma kept her attention on Nathan as the firebird turned towards her. 

"So here we are," she said aloud, looking up to meet the incandescent silver gaze. "Are we quite finished with our tantrum, dear? It's been spectacular, of course, in case you were looking for positive reinforcement..."

The hiss she got in response to that was mostly telepathic, and not particularly human-sounding. Emma merely smiled slightly as the firebird leaned closer, Nathan glaring down at her if debating whether or not to swat her like a bug. Despite the scowl, he wasn't making any aggressive moves, and she relaxed fractionally. She hadn't been _absolutely_ positive that he wouldn't turn on her (not that she would ever have admitted that aloud, least of all to Erik). 

"Of course, I'm wearing the right letter on my clothes, aren't I?" she went on. "A nice, safe X, rather than an A. I suppose I should apologize for ruining your fun. I was tempted to let you finish him off, but the whining and complaining from the Avengers afterwards would just have been _so_ tedious." The scowl was melting into a dubious look, and Emma pressed on smoothly. "That was an impressive job with those warbirds. Especially the one you disassembled. Very... pointed. I'm presuming your father wasn't on either of them?"

That hit home; she felt it. The firebird rocked backwards, and confusion and sadness flashed across Nathan's face. _#No,#_ he sent after a moment, and she sensed him struggling to focus, to push past the flames. _#I checked...#_

"Of course you did. Accidental patricide is hardly your style, dear." The fire in the sky was beginning to fade, if slowly. Emma's head tilted slightly as she regarded him. " _Do_ you know where he is? Was there another ship?"

Perhaps it wasn't fair of her to take this approach. Certainly, it was quite thoroughly selfish; she wanted to know where Scott was, so that she could figure out how to get him back and leave the people who'd taken him locked in their minds in an endless loop of their worst nightmares. But this _was_ Scott's son in front of her. Perhaps the best way to reach him, to help him calm himself, was to engage him in some strategic thinking and planning. Certain tendencies were encoded into Summers DNA, after all.

_#... yes. Lunar orbit,#_ Nathan said, the confusion fading from his expression as he looked upwards. _#A third warbird. I saw it in their minds. That's where he must be.#_

If that third warbird hadn't already made a run for Chandilar when they saw what was happening, Emma thought, and had to repress a surge of icy fear at the idea of Scott being taken back to Shi'ar space. "That's a start," she said approvingly. "I'm glad to see today hasn't been all about burning things, Nathan. As satisfying as that may be, we do have bigger concerns."

And he went right where she led him, like a good little Phoenix-muddled lamb. _#Hope.#_ It was almost a plea, and the last of the flames in the sky finally faded. The firebird was still alarmingly bright, but Emma could see blue sky above it and the feel of the air was returning to normal. _#I don't trust them, Emma,#_ Nathan muttered in her head, almost desperately. _#I know they mean well, but I don't trust them...#_

#You're not the only one, dear. The road to hell and all that.# The switch to telepathy was deliberate. She could sense an opening as the Phoenix eased its grip on him (or perhaps it was vice-versa?) and she wrapped soothing overtones around the projected words, strong enough that they bordered on a telepathic suggestion to _calm down, take a breath, rest_. 

#I know precisely where Hope is,# Emma went on steadily, her presence worming its way deeper into his thoughts, #and Erik is about to send Namor to fetch her. If Rogers doesn't issue the appropriate orders quickly enough, there will be some profoundly bruised Avengers. You know how his Majesty is about taking no for an answer.# 

_#Namor?#_ Nathan drifted towards the ground, and Emma seized on the fatigue he was suddenly projecting, reflecting it back at him so that it was magnified, amplified. Too much for him to resist. _#...he protected her on Utopia,#_ Nathan went on, sounding as if he was struggling to form the words now. _#I can trust him...#_

_#Yes, you can. That's right.#_ Emma stepped closer, heedless of the still-present firebird, and reached up to take his face between her hands. The physical contact was what she needed to form a deeper link, and she hissed softly as she got a better look at the damage. She hoped Rachel and Hope weren't in this state, or she would be spending the next twenty-four hours or so in psychic surgery mode.

#Close your eyes,# she murmured to him, nudging his mind closer towards unconsciousness. #You're going to wake up in my penthouse and Hope will be in the room next to yours, surrounded by X-Men. Rachel, too. I promise. Then we'll talk about how to retrieve your father.#


	13. End of Summers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack on New York, the X-Men and the Avengers try to come to terms. Wanda gives Steve a warning and drops an alarming piece of information, and in Shi'ar custody, Scott discovers just how ruthless the Shi'ar are planning to be - and the identity of the person to blame for it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this part, all; September is plague month for teachers. I knew I wouldn't escape once my lectures started to sound like TB wards.

Whether it was the burns, the concussion, or the painkillers that weren't doing much to help either, Hank's thoughts kept drifting. He was trying to concentrate on what his monitors were telling him, but the patterns of energy surrounding the young woman on the gurney kept drawing his attention. They were almost hypnotic; it was like Rachel was wrapped in a shifting cloud of red and gold fireflies. 

Hank had managed to establish that it wasn't a telekinetic shield, although it was certainly preventing anyone from touching her. Thankfully, none of his tests had provoked a hostile response; that had certainly been a concern, as he was perfectly aware of the source of the energy. The lights might be pulsing in synch with her heartbeat, but their psionic signature was very different than hers (and easily recognized). It was like they were tiny holes in reality, Hank thought dimly, little rips through which the Phoenix was shining... 

He heard the lab door open behind him. "I promised the President a more complete briefing later," Steve said, coming up behind him. He sounded hoarse, as if he'd been giving orders steadily for the last six hours. Hank wouldn't be overly surprised if that was in fact the case; he could only imagine the demands on Steve's attention at a time like this. "Please tell me you can help me deliver," Steve went on, resting a hand on Hank's shoulder and squeezing gently. "Although you look like you should be in bed yourself..."

"We do what we must," Hank said wearily, although part of him shuddered at the idea of being forced to rest with nothing to do but relive the Peak's destruction. Work was the best escape there was, even if he was seeing double from time to time. "I wish I had more to tell you, but I don't know what's going on. I truly don't. To see three Phoenix hosts at once is unprecedented in my experience. I'm not even certain why she's unconscious, and this energy discharge-" It wasn't the best description, but right now he couldn't come up with a better, "-is very unusual. It's almost..."

Hank stopped, staring hard at the shifting lights. "Spillover," he said abruptly, realizing. He'd been correct, with that rather fanciful image. "That's what we're looking at. She's channeling so much of the Phoenix that her body can't contain it all." Why hadn't he made that connection right away? _I'll blame the concussion for that._ He turned towards one of the monitors, wincing in pain as his head throbbed more forcefully. "I need to see how much the psionic energy levels are fluctuating..."

"Did this happen the last time?"

Hank shook his head, his eyes shifting back to Rachel. It bothered him to see her like this. He needed to be able to do better for Jean's daughter than he'd done for Jean herself; he owed his friend that, at least. "Not like this. Not _anything_ like this. I need to see Hope and Cable as well," he said grimly. "The sooner the better. I need to know if they're all in the same condition; the Phoenix is unpredictable even when it's stable, and this? This is not stable." He waved a bandaged hand at Rachel gingerly, sighing. "We're not getting the complete picture. This is far too important for me to indulge in guesswork."

He had to give Steve the best possible advice here, Hank thought bleakly. He'd failed _so_ completely on the Peak, allowing the Shi'ar to use him and his good intentions as a distraction. SWORD's losses were in the dozens, and despite the Phoenix's intervention, there had been a number of casualties on the ground in New York. It could have been so much worse, but he couldn't afford to make any more mistakes. Other people seemed to be the ones who paid for them of late. 

"I'll do what I can, Hank." Steve sounded pensive. "Maybe I shouldn't have had Carol hand Hope over to Namor, but it seemed like the best course of action at the time. I had to de-escalate the situation." His voice abruptly seethed with barely suppressed anger as he went on. "The Red Hulk shouldn't have been there. I would never have ordered him into that situation, and he and I are going to have words about the total lack of common sense he displayed."

"When the situation is sufficiently chaotic, people tend to improvise," Hank said, thinking about that footage from Riverside Park. "It doesn't always end well, but at least he's alive to know better another day. Have the X-Men been in contact?" He hoped the answer was yes. The time for hiding was done; they _had_ to cooperate on this, both teams together. Too much was at stake now. The fate of the Earth itself, not to be trite.

"Ororo and Frost are on their way over. I understand they regrouped at Frost's penthouse." Steve looked down at him, and Hank frowned at the change in his expression. "Logan's here, too. Hank... something happened at the school."

* * *

As soon as they knew Emma and Ororo were coming, Logan had informed the others that he would be the one who spoke to them first. It hadn't been a request. Steve hadn't argued; in fact, he'd said something about how it might be better if he wasn't there, that _it's probably best if we keep this informal for right now._ He'd been just evasive enough that Logan was more convinced than ever that the man was hiding something. Especially given the flare of unease he'd caught in Steve's scent when he'd said Emma's name. _There's something he doesn't want her to see._ Logan _would_ find out what, but that was for later. 

Stark had wanted to step right in to fill the gap, of course, but Logan had made it very clear that he needed a few minutes and was fully prepared to throw him bodily out of the conference room if he didn't get it. Ororo didn't need Stark trying to 'handle' her, and if they were going to bring the X-Men from Utopia properly back in out of the cold, he wanted, _needed_ to be the one who made the first step.

Although he wouldn't be, he thought suddenly as the conference room door opened. _Scott_ had made the first step. _Just means I owe it to him to follow through._

"'Ro," Logan said gruffly, his throat tightening at the sight of Ororo. She looked tired, worn in a way he hadn't seen her for a long time. When they'd been combing Utopia to see if there were any survivors trapped in the rubble, he'd come across a place where he'd smelled her blood. A _lot_ of her blood. Tearing through what was left of the collapsed wall had at least reassured him that she wasn't under there, but the smell had haunted him for days. 

They both moved towards each other, meeting in the middle of the room. She didn't smell hurt at least, Logan thought, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at her. But as composed as she might appear to be, he could tell how worried she was. It was coming off her in waves. Following an instinct, he stepped forward and gave her a quick, hard hug. The way she held on made it very clear that she'd needed it. 

"It is so good to see you, Logan," Ororo murmured, her voice soft and a little unsteady.

"Likewise, darlin'." He gave her one last squeeze and then stepped back, his attention shifting to Emma. She was back in her trademark white, immaculate-looking for a woman who'd been on the run for a week, but the dark circles under her eyes were new. Her scent was full of cold rage and fear. 

"Emma," Logan said with a nod, not breaking eye contact. "We'll get him back, I promise. I-"

She slapped him across the face, hard. There'd been no change in her expression and precious little warning in her scent. Logan straightened, giving her a long, narrow-eyed look. 

"I probably deserved that," he growled, "but don't make it a habit."

"Out of curiosity," Emma said, her voice brittle, " _why_ didn't Henry or Katherine think to check your systems for back doors once the Shi'ar attacked Utopia? I'll excuse you, as I know that your usual response to technical problems is to stab the equipment involved, but what were they so busy doing? Congratulating themselves on their superior morality in the teachers' lounge?"

"Doesn't help Scott or anyone else to stand here pointing fingers," Logan said gruffly, telling himself not to rise to the bait. He wasn't the one Emma was angry at, not really. "Let's sit down. We have to sort out what happens now."

"Will any of the others be joining us?" Ororo asked as she found a seat. 

"Stark, when I tell him he can. Cap thought it might be best if he sat this one out." Emma raised an eyebrow, but he didn't give her a chance to ask. "So you're at the penthouse. Cable and Hope, too?"

Emma's expression grew positively chilly. "Yes," she said, her tone clipped. She was still reeking with fury, and what smelled almost like protectiveness. Which surprised Logan, given that she didn't get along with either Rachel or Hope and hardly knew Cable. "Nathan and Hope, too. We seem to be short one Phoenix host, however. I can't speak for Ororo, but that's why _I'm_ here. She needs to be back at the penthouse with her brother and her niece. I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"Speaking for myself," Ororo said with a sigh, rubbing at her temples, "I am here to talk strategy." She smelled like she was in pain suddenly; headache, Logan thought. "But I must agree with Emma on the subject of Rachel. She must be handed over to our custody immediately."

Logan frowned. "She's not in any danger here," he said, eyes narrowing as he studied the two women. "You've got my word on that-"

"Shall I go back to the penthouse and wake up her brother?" Emma said sharply, straightening in her chair. "If I have to, I'll tell him that the Avengers are holding his sister prisoner. I think things might become a little messy at that point."

"Frost, do us all a favor and lay off the threats," Logan growled, although the mental image she'd just painted for him couldn't help but make him uneasy. He'd seen the shape the Red Hulk was in, and Natasha had told him just how little it had taken to set Cable off. "It ain't productive." 

"Besides," and Logan nearly snarled at the sound of Stark's voice from behind him as the man strode into the conference room, tablet in hand and showing no shame at all for interrupting, "we're _not_ keeping the lovely Ms. Grey prisoner. Hank's simply running some tests."

Interrupting _and_ eavesdropping, Logan thought, growling under his breath as he started to rise from his chair. "What did I tell you, Stark?"

"Relax, Logan," Tony said dismissively, taking a seat on Ororo's other side. "I could see things getting a little confrontational, so I thought I'd step in. Emma, Ororo, if you think that taking Rachel back to the other two is going to help keep all three of them calm, I'm all for it. The only question is how we get the answers we need while still handling them with sufficient care."

"And what answers do you feel that _we_ need?" Ororo asked evenly, her eyes locked on Tony's. 

"Well, to start with, why the Phoenix is here. Why it's suddenly under the impression that three hosts are better than one. That's a significant deviation from its previous behavior, yes?"

#You didn't tell them what Scott told you,# Emma suddenly said in Logan's mind, sounding almost quizzical. #Why not?#

Logan half-shrugged, his attention mostly on Ororo, who was wearing one of those too-composed expressions that meant she was wrestling with something in her own head. _The problem right now is the Shi'ar,_ he said. It was true, if not the whole truth. 

"So we send Rachel back with them," Logan said aloud, as if that point was still in doubt. If both Emma and 'Ro were that insistent, there had to be a good reason behind it. "Makes sense to let all three of them sleep it off." Damn it, he was talking like they'd been on a bender. "Then what?"

"I think the question is where. I'd suggest a neutral location," Tony mused. "Somewhere that doesn't suggest 'government custody', but which has the equipment we need in case more tests are in order - and no, Emma, I'm not regarding them as lab rats. Please stop giving me that look."

"The Baxter Building, perhaps?" Ororo asked, almost diffidently. "It would seem to fit both requirements." 

"Might work," Logan said. "Reed's been hanging around helping Tony with that gun of his-"

"Helping?" Tony scoffed. "More like hindering me at every turn. He keeps coming up with reasons why design elements won't work. I've had to go back to the drawing board half a dozen times. He even-" Tony stopped, eyes widening as he looked at Ororo. "Hold on. He didn't show up to harass me of his own accord, did he?"

"Reed agreed with me that what you were planning was very unwise," Ororo said. "It took very little persuasion on my part to convince him to intervene. By the way," and there was something more steely in her voice as she continued, "I trust that your device will be dismantled. Promptly."

"I'm... not willing to burn that bridge just yet," Tony said warily. "Not until we're absolutely sure we won't need it. As far as we know, there's still a giant firebird on its way to Earth."

"Not acceptable." The steel had turned to iron, and the air in the room... prickled suddenly, as if it had picked up an electrical charge. "You dismantle that folly," Ororo went on, "and you do so as soon as possible. That and Rachel's release are my conditions for cooperating with the Avengers." 

Tony's eyes narrowed. "What is it about the idea of driving the Phoenix away that bothers you _that_ much?" he asked slowly. 

"Don't be foolish," Emma said crisply, before Ororo could respond. "This has become a strategic issue. If more Shi'ar forces are on the way, the Phoenix may be the only hope we have. Are you willing to risk breaking whatever connection exists between it and its hosts? Besides," and Emma gave him a chilly little smile, "even if there's still a giant firebird on its way to Earth, it has three very willing instruments here already. If you don't dismantle your toy, I can almost guarantee you that they will."

"Emma, you're in a very confrontational mood today. But... you have a point," Tony conceded, manipulating something on his tablet without looking at the screen. "Let's say I agree to both conditions. How do I know you're not planning to teleport away into hiding as soon as you've got Rachel?"

"Because we can't hide the three of them," Emma said, almost impatiently. "Their power signatures would stand out like a bonfire in the dark. The Shi'ar will find them wherever they go."

"The time for hiding is done. Those ships were not attacking the X-Men today; we are _all_ at risk now, and the Avengers are not the only ones who made a promise to protect this world. We _will_ work with you," Ororo said, and glanced at Logan. "You have my word. Both of you."

"Her word's good, Stark," Logan said immediately.

"All right," Tony said after a moment. "If we're on the same page, then we should start talking about a rescue mission for Cyclops."

* * *

"Wanda? Can you hear me?"

Steve had made a point of slipping out of the Tower as soon as he'd talked to Hank. He didn't want to be anywhere near Emma Frost right now. The X-Men didn't need to know that Wanda was in the city, they really didn't. Things had gone very badly at their last meeting. 

When he'd gotten back to the safehouse, the head of the security detail had told him that while Wanda had only been unconscious for a few minutes, she had been completely unresponsive ever since. Steve had found her curled up in an armchair by the windows, staring out at the city with a distant look in her eyes.

So he was _very_ relieved when she focused on him, a tiny, sad smile tugging at her lips. "Of course I can, Steve," she said softly, relaxing back into the soft cushions of the chair. "I was waiting for you."

As he rose from his crouch in front of her and sat down in the chair opposite hers - it was strange to think he'd been right here only several hours ago; it felt like much longer - she took a deep breath and went on, almost conversationally. "That didn't turn out nearly as badly as it could have, did it? But then, there were some very powerful wills at work in the sky this afternoon." 

"I suppose that's one way to put it." He watched her carefully, spotting the tell-tale signs of strain in her expression. "I watched Cable take out two warbirds on his own. Hope and Rachel chased down every Shi'ar who teleported into the city. Your three in one did a very thorough job of defending us."

"Three in one," Wanda murmured, as if reminding herself that yes, she had spoken those words. "Don't forget that. They are themselves, but they're also the Phoenix."

"What does that mean?" He could feel himself starting to flounder again as the conversation went right back into the same enigmatic commentary that had baffled him earlier that day. "Carol said that Hope was rational, but Thor wound up fighting with Rachel, and Cable..."

"I saw it," Wanda said. "White light, by the river. He's the fiercest of them, Steve, so be careful of him. Love and the fear of loss can drive you much harder than hate." That sad smile came back. "I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"How do you _know_ this?" His voice was soft, rather than sharp, but he couldn't quite keep the plea out of it. He leaned forward in his chair, holding her eyes with his and willing her not to evade his questions this time. "And what did 'checkmate' mean? Was it about the Shi'ar taking Scott Summers?"

"...is that what happened?" Wanda's eyes had gone very wide, and what little color there was in her cheeks was draining away. "You have to get him back," she said abruptly. "You have to do it soon. I didn't think... Scott has to be here. They're going to need him."

Well, he'd wanted to hear something definitive. It wasn't enough, though, and he reached out to take her hand, wincing as she flinched. "Wanda, I need to know if I can trust the Phoenix, or the people it's inhabiting. Can you tell me that much?" He took a deep breath. "I think we're going to need them. They're the best defense we have against the Shi'ar. But if they're a weapon that's just going to turn on us..."

"Steve. Stop. Think for a moment." There was nothing but patience in the way she regarded him, although her tone was almost sharp. "If I tell you that you _can't_ trust them, you'll treat them like a threat. I'll have trapped you in a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I tell you that you _can_ , you'll be less wary than you should be. They cannot be treated casually. You _do_ need them, you're right about that. But there's a question you're not asking yourself, and you should be. Can _they_ trust _you_?"

He eyed her for a long, searching moment, feeling oddly cold at the question. "I'm worried about the X-Men finding out where you are," he said, although he was almost sure that wasn't what she meant. "I can't defend my mind against Emma Frost. And once the Phoenix hosts are back on their feet-"

"It's all right, Steve. You don't have to protect me. You can't. As soon as they're in the same room with you, they'll see." Wanda took a deep breath, squeezing his hand for a moment before she released it. She straightened in her chair, tucking her hair behind one ear. "The Phoenix is going to come for me. I know that. It'll be up to me to convince it."

"Of what?"

"Not to kill me."

* * *

Scott was getting the impression that having taken him, the Shi'ar weren't entirely sure what to do with him. The commando team had roughed him up a little once they'd had his powers safely restrained; apparently a couple of them had lost family during Vulcan's reign, and having another Summers at their mercy made for a handy outlet. But then something had happened – Scott wasn't sure what, but the Shi'ar had seemed almost panicky – and he'd been thrown in this cell and left here for hours.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean he'd managed to construct a feasible plan. Sitting here in the dark, he'd managed to map out the shape of the inhibitor collar by touch, and come to the uneasy realization that it was almost certainly fitted with an explosive charge to discourage tampering. The restraints on his arms were big and sturdy and didn't appear to have physical locks. Even if he figured a way out of them, he _was_ on a starship. That meant either getting to a communications station and hoping they were still within Magik's range, or stealing a smaller spacecraft or escape pod and hoping he managed to get back to Earth. _If they just leave me in here, I'm screwed._ But if some of his captors came back to gloat or interrogate him, he might be able to find an opening. Or make one.

He wasn't sure how long it was before the cell door opened again. The light was bright enough after being in complete darkness that his eyes watered profusely and it took a long moment for his vision to clear. When it did, he saw he had three visitors. Warbird (who'd led the commando team that had captured him), a Shi'ar male of lower rank (judging by his uniform) carrying equipment, and another Shi'ar female, this one in long, flowing robes. She looked oddly familiar. 

"Scott Summers," she said with a nod. "I am Chancellor Araki, seventh iteration of the Araki sequence."

 _And that would be why she seems familiar._ They cloned them, Scott knew. Alex had even told him that the Chancellor's lineage had opted for a female this time, so that Gladiator wouldn't be faced with a daily reminder of the man who'd been behind Lilandra's death. 

"Chancellor," he said, his voice gravelly as he looked up at her. "Should I ask why I'm here?"

Abruptly, there was a sword point beneath his chin, digging into the flesh of his throat. Warbird had stepped forward and drawn quickly enough that he hadn't had time to flinch. "You should speak when you're spoken to, Scott Summers," she said, her eyes locked on his.

"It is a fair question, Naganandini," Araki said. She nodded at the silent male, who knelt to set up the equipment he bore. A holographic projector, Scott realized, and watched as the light slowly resolved into a satellite view of the west coast of North America. Were they tapping into Earth's own satellite network for this? he wondered as the projection started to zoom in, shifting northward.

Warbird lowered her sword, and Araki turned her attention back to Scott. "There are three Phoenix hosts currently active on Earth," she informed him. 

Scott stiffened where he sat. It was cold in the cell already, but he felt like her words had just plunged him into icy water. "... I imagine that was something of a surprise," he said hoarsely, his eyes flickering warily towards Warbird. But she remained where she was, her sword at her side.

"Yes. It has forced us to adapt our strategy. Our attack on New York may have been thwarted-"

 _New York? Why New York?_ Surely that wasn't the site of either of the fallback safehouses Emma had prepared. Not that close to the Avengers. He discarded the question almost as soon as it occurred to him. Three Phoenix hosts. That was the real issue here. Hope and... _oh, don't tell me..._

"-but additional forces will arrive soon. Until then, we are implementing our customary policy of containment. Your adopted granddaughter we expected, of course," Araki continued. "According to our intelligence her genome has already been all but extinguished, but an additional commando team was sent to find the last of her maternal lineage near Cooperstown, Alaska. The elderly female was successfully dispatched."

The satellite feed zoomed in on a single burning home in what appeared to be a small town and Scott swallowed hard, fighting back fury and nausea alike. "You killed Hope's grandmother?" Beneath the fury was a sudden, racking sense of guilt. After what the Shi'ar had done to the Greys, he should have seen this possibility. It hadn't even occurred to him that the Shi'ar would know Hope's real name, let alone be able to identify what was left of her family. _Damn it. Oh, Hope, I'm so sorry..._

"Yes. It was done quickly," Araki said, as if that was some consolation. "It is troublesome that we were unable to identify her paternal lineage, but we will continue investigating. The other two Phoenix hosts are your son and your daughter."

Scott stared right back at her, completely unsurprised to have it confirmed. Rachel was an obvious candidate, and given that a portion of the Phoenix had been the spark that had animated Madelyne, there was logic to the idea of Nathan being able to drawn on that power as well. _Why_ all three of them would be doing it at once was another question entirely, but...

His thoughts stuttered to a stop, fracturing in shock as the image shifted to display another burning house. This one was in an even more rural setting, just outside Anchorage in the Chugach Mountains. He knew it. He knew it so well. It was the house that his grandfather had built with his own two hands, the house where Philip and Deborah had spent their entire married life. Where they'd welcomed their lost grandsons back into the family Scott and Alex had thought they'd lost forever. 

He watched it burn, and it was like watching all those good memories, all of Philip and Deborah's kindness, burn with it. The sense of loss was staggering, and he leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

"Your lineage is also not extensive. Philip and Deborah Summers were low-risk targets. Their terminations were swift and relatively painless." Araki frowned. "Your brother is a problem. He is in close proximity to the Phoenix hosts, and all of our commandos in New York were killed. The kill order still stands. It may simply be delayed. That may be for the best; your brother is a high-level threat, and additional troops will be helpful. Your maternal lineage is already extinct within the prescribed degrees-" 

"I am going to kill every single one of you," Scott said, his voice low and tight with the fury that suddenly came roaring back to fill that aching void. It wasn't bluster. He meant it; he would find a way if it was the last thing he did.

Araki blinked, as if taken aback. "You are hardly in the position for such threats to be believable," she said. "You are alive now to serve as bait, Scott Summers, and then you'll be terminated as well. We were short-sighted to believe that removing the Grey genome alone would solve the problem of the Phoenix's... strange attraction to Earth. Some of our researchers have hypothesized that the Spalding and Summers genomes may be connected. In the end, that entire arctic region may need to be sanitized."

She tilted her head suddenly, as if listening to a voice only she could hear. "The Praetor wishes a word," she said. The Shi'ar male who'd carried the projector immediately removed it and himself from the cell. Warbird stepped back, her posture more deferential, and Araki took a breath that seemed almost nervous, the hand that wasn't holding her staff smoothing at her robes. 

The cell door opened. 

"Hello, Scott."

Scott stared fixedly at the man who couldn't possibly be Charles Xavier. "Illusion," he said flatly. "Clone. Skrull. Cassandra Nova, God help us all..."

"I'll concede that you could come up with several more possibilities," the not-Charles said, gazing down at him. He wore Shi'ar armor that bore several symbols of rank, none of which Scott could immediately interpret. "But is it that impossible to believe that I may have simply acknowledged, at last, the danger the Phoenix poses to the galaxy?"

"Impossible to believe that he would go to these lengths, even if he came to that conclusion," Scott grated. This was not real. There was no way this was real. The Shi'ar were idiots if they expected him to accept this. "Murdering innocent people, _his_ people? It's not quite Xavier's modus operandi."

"And if I tell you I've seen where this leads?" The pensive look was so familar. So perfect. Exactly the expression Charles wore whenever he was facing an unpalatable decision. It really _was_ very good, whatever it was.

"If you told me that," Scott said slowly, the anger creeping back into his voice, "I'd remind you that Charles is not a precognitive. So you can go to hell, whoever you are, because I'm not falling for it!" 

A hand went up, fingertips lightly pressed to a temple, a gesture that was just as familiar as the expression. Then there was nothing but pain, fiery all-encompassing pain as if a telepath had just reached into his brain and leaned hard on his pain center, but that didn't prove anything, it _didn't_...

After what felt like endless minutes, he was released. Scott sagged back against the wall behind him, gasping for air. He could feel the fading burn along every nerve. The thing wearing Charles's face shook his head slowly, its gaze steady. Regretful.

"I didn't say I was the source of what I've seen," it said. "These are drastic steps, Scott. I mourn them more than you can possibly know, and I know that what I am doing is unforgivable. I'm trying to do my best to... temper the decisions being made. Removing you from the board was a necessary part of that. All I can promise is that I'll preserve what I can, but sacrifices have to be made. I'd think you would understand that by now, after everything you've done to save our species."

"You... are _not_ Charles Xavier," Scott wheezed, a noise that might have been a laugh slipping out. "Nice t-try, Araki," he spat at her. "It's... not going to f-fool anyone Earthside either."

"This is no trick," Araki said quietly. "As you can see, Scott Summers, the situation is a great deal more complex than you might have imagined. I am sorry for your suffering, but this... infection must be ended, here and now, forever." She gave 'Charles' an almost diffident look. "Praetor? Shall we begin?"

"Yes. Have him taken below," it said to Warbird. "Tell the specialists to record everything. If we're to feed the flames, we need kindling."


	14. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix hosts return to the land of the conscious, with varying results; Nathan still wants Logan dead, Rachel may or may not be facilitating mischief of the explosive sort, and Hope has a strange encounter that involves making a very reluctant promise. Meanwhile, the Shi'ar kill Scott, which has the effect of making him rather cranky.

There was no gradual transition. One moment, he was floating amid the light, listening to it murmur to him. It was telling him things that only a part of him actually heard and processed; far better that way, he knew. The human mind wasn't meant to encompass some of this information. It was enough that he knew it on some level and would be driven to act on it when the time came. It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with the concept of being an instrument of a higher purpose. 

In the next moment, he was opening his eyes and staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. There was a rather surprising presence in the room. "Where are we?" Nathan asked, his voice rough with disuse - but human-sounding, lacking the added resonance of the Phoenix. It had withdrawn to the back of his mind, like a sea of fire lapping gently at the shore of his thoughts. Giving him room, he thought, as a way of emphasizing that this wasn't possession. It knew about Stryfe, of course. It knew everything about him. 

He sat up slowly, ignoring the light-headedness as he looked around. The room was definitely unfamiliar, but the sleek elegance of the furniture and decor made him think of Emma. 

Over by the windows, Erik was filling a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. He brought it over to the bed and Nathan took it, feeling a little bemused at the realization that waking up to find _Magneto_ watching over him had not only _not_ been alarming, but was actually something of a relief. 

"To answer your question," Erik said, "Emma's penthouse in New York. Hope is-"

"-in the next room. I remember now." Nathan was already reaching out to her, but the Phoenix murmured reassuringly, the waves in his mind reaching a little higher to show him that Hope was sealed in a healing sleep. " _She's going to be all right,_ " Nathan said absently, the resonance creeping back into his voice. Flames flickered around his hands, including the one holding the glass of water. " _It was a little rough with us, that's all._ " His throat felt like sandpaper, so he took a long sip of the water as the Phoenix retreated again. 

Erik sat down, regarding him thoughtfully. "Interesting. How do you feel?"

"Probably better than the Red Hulk does at the moment." Nathan offered a faint smile at the raised eyebrow he got for the comment. "Sorry. I know, I'll be expected to be repentant about that." He'd have to work on making a good show of it, he supposed. The less reason he gave anyone to start muttering about Dark Phoenix the better. 

"Not by me," Erik pointed out wryly. "But it was a serious question, Nathan. Are you all right?"

"I'm... here. In control." It was the best answer he could give at the moment. He hurt all over in an odd sort of way, as if every cell in his body ached. But his mind was clear and a quick internal assessment showed no sign of psychic damage. There _had_ been, he thought. 

Nathan took another sip of water, then pushed the blankets aside and swung his legs across to the floor so that he could sit up properly. The light-headedness was still lingering, and his shoulders slumped a little as he turned his mind's eye outward. His telepathy was still impossibly sharp. Every mind in the penthouse was an open book. Minds far _beyond_ the penthouse, as well.

"Illyana is coming back with Rachel," he said slowly. "Emma and Ororo are at Avengers Tower, talking about rescuing Scott with... Stark. And Logan." His voice went flat, and the waves of fire were suddenly crashing violently into his thoughts, his control beginning to slip in the space between one heartbeat and the next. 

"Emma and Ororo told me about what seemed to trigger your manifestation back at the safehouse. I had no idea Logan had such thoughts, or rest assured, I would have confronted him about it long ago. But I _am_ curious. How did you know?" Erik's icy blue eyes were locked on Nathan, contemplative and yet very intent. 

" _How did I know what?_ " Nathan was beginning to feel strangely disassociated. There was a mirror in front of his mind's eyes, a mirror where his reflection was getting ready for war and all he could do was stare at it and wonder if he really wanted to reassert control. Surely it was safer to remove Logan now...

"How did you know about what Logan and Hope had agreed?" Erik asked, his voice steady but oddly sharp. "Nathan. Focus on me. Answer the question."

" _I... I don't know. I don't think I did, until that moment..._ " Nathan stopped, taking a deep breath. He folded his hands around the glass of water, ignoring the flames, and bowed his head for a moment. Another deep breath, then another, and the mirror faded. He was whole again. 

"I see what you're doing," he said in his own voice again. The flames flickered and vanished. He was angry about a great many things, Nathan told himself; he needed to be careful. Becoming crazed by the need to protect the people he loved was the best way to fail. _Again._ "Fine. I'm thinking, not just reacting. I'd still like to rip his head off for it."

"I'm not actually saying that you shouldn't." Erik's words were precise, judicious, and a brief, wintry smile tugged at Nathan's lips. "Simply that now is probably not the time. If I may offer a piece of advice without being presumptuous? From a failed father to a rather more successful one..." Nathan nodded, and Erik went on in the same careful tone. "Ignore Logan for the time being. Let us handle him, if he needs to be handled. Focus your attention on Hope instead. She is very young, to be wielding this kind of power-" 

"She's better suited to it than I am," Nathan said almost absently. "This is what she was born to do."

The eyebrow went up again. "Be that as it may," Erik said, although he was looking thoughtful again. " _You_ are the one she trusts. I would venture to suggest that she would never have made that agreement with Logan if she hadn't been under the mistaken impression that you were dead. As such, the agreement itself is likely... moot. If she feels she's losing control, she'll come to you for help. Not to Logan to end her life."

"I still can't trust him." Nathan took another sip of his water, bleak worry twisting in his chest. "He'll be watching all three of us."

"And we'll be watching him. Look after Hope, Nathan." Erik was giving him that very intent look again. "If the Phoenix has a purpose for everything it does, surely that's yours."

Nathan considered it for a moment, then nodded. "That," he said with a flash of dark humor, "and killing Shi'ar. I'm just getting started with _that_." And in the back of his mind, the Phoenix murmured approvingly.

* * *

Alex set the phone down, staring blankly at it. His brain was still struggling to process what he'd just been told. On top of everything else that had happened in the last several days, this seemed... impossible. Unfair. _Connected,_ he thought. Had to be. 

"Summers?" Odd that it was Namor who opted to approach him, but Alex supposed his expression gave away the fact that something had happened. The Atlantean regarded him through narrowed eyes more wary than concerned. "Ill news?"

"That was the police in Anchorage." Alex kept his voice low. They were in the living room of the penthouse; Laurie was curled up watching the news, while Nemesis sat at the desk, his fingers flying over the laptop he'd cajoled out of Emma as soon as he'd arrived last night. The girl at least didn't need to hear this - she'd been through enough - and he wasn't sure he could tolerate any witticisms from Nemesis at the moment. 

"Lorna gave them the number here. They..." He stopped, taking a carefully measured breath as emotion started to bleed through the shock. "My grandparents are dead."

Namor was silent for a moment. Alex looked up at him and saw the realization forming. "Both of them," Namor said slowly. "Yesterday?"

Alex nodded slowly. "There was... an explosion at their house. Around the same time as the attack here. Their bodies were recovered, but the police say it looks like they were dead _before_ the fire. I don't..." He stopped, his jaw clenching hard. Grief could wait until later. Would have to wait until later. "This is not a coincidence," he said harshly. "There's no way."

"It would seem unlikely. But why?"

" _I know why._ "

Alex froze as he saw Rachel coming down the stairs. She had woken up last night, not long after Illyana had brought her back to the penthouse. Like Nathan and Hope, she'd seemed generally... calm, but now there were flames taking shape around her again and her face was a mask of cold rage. Alex knew just by looking at her that she'd made the same connection he had, that this was very likely history repeating itself. At least Nathan and Hope were at the Baxter Building, and hopefully not picking up on this. _One angry Phoenix at a time._

" _The Shi'ar massacred the Grey family trying to wipe out a Phoenix-compatible genome,_ " Rachel said to Namor. The flames around her were growing brighter and her eyes were like emerald fire. " _Obviously they've concluded that the Summers genome is just as dangerous._ "

"It makes sense," Alex said more flatly. His grandparents' smiling faces lingered in his mind, and it was taking an act of will to keep his expression level, to keep himself from lashing out with a fist or a plasma burst to break _something_. Damn them for this. _Damn them all to hell._

Rachel reached the bottom of the stairs, moving towards them so fluidly that her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. " _So,_ " she went on, " _they killed Philip and Deborah to contain the threat, when really, it doesn't make any difference at all. It's like firing a gun at a tsunami. Two... sweet, kind elderly people are gone, and it's not going to change a thing. They think they're protecting themselves. All they've ensured is that we're going to make them suffer before we kill them all._ "

Alex supposed he should be disturbed by the matter-of-fact way she'd said that. If she hadn't been talking about people trying to wipe out his entire family, he might have been. "Scott," he said, his voice dropping again as his hands tightened into fists at his side. "What about Scott?"

"If they'd simply wanted Cyclops dead," Nemesis said without looking up from his laptop, "I imagine they'd have left him bleeding out on the floor of Wolverine's study. Nor does a corpse make good bait." Laurie was watching and listening, her eyes wide and horrified. "I'd be more worried about yourself right now, Havok. You're an obvious target."

" _He's right,_ " Rachel said, that burning gaze locked on him. " _They'll come for you when they can; you're on their list. But we won't let them have you. We'll burn all of them down to ashes._ " Her teeth were bared in a smile that had nothing humorous about it. " _I won't be caught unprepared again,_ " she growled.

"The police _are_ expecting me to come to Anchorage," Alex said slowly. Forcing himself to think, instead of just react. "To identify the bodies and make the necessary arrangements." 

"It could be a trap," Namor objected. "Your grandparents wouldn't thank you for endangering your life to see to their funeral rituals, Summers." He stopped, looking mildly exasperated with himself, and then smiled humorlessly. "Unless that's the point, of course."

"Of course it is," Alex said calmly. "We need intel, don't we? Scott's not the only one who can be used as bait." They had some time before they could launch a rescue mission; the ship wasn't ready yet. And right now, he didn't feel like sitting around and waiting. 

"A plan worthy of your brother," Namor said approvingly. 

"I'll take that as a compliment. What do you say, Ray?" Alex asked, turning his attention back to his niece. "Think you could let us keep some of them alive for long enough to talk if we go up there and lay a trap of our own?" They had a much better chance of pulling this off with no injuries to anyone on their side if they had the Phoenix along for the ride. He'd have to call Ororo and tell her what he was planning. She could tell the Avengers or not, as she chose. _Right now I don't give a fuck._

" _If it's a commando unit, you can have the leader,_ " Rachel said fiercely, the flames leaping eagerly around her. " _The rest of them are mine._ "

* * *

_So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?_

_I don't know what you mean, Tony._

_Come on, Reed. You hid the fact that you were playing Storm's errand boy from me. What else are you hiding? I'm willing to bet you've got more of this figured out than you're sharing._

Hope laid on the gurney as the machine rotated around her, and wondered if they realized she could hear them as they argued up there in the control booth. Maybe she should say something? No, she thought abruptly, better to listen. She might hear something useful. Nathan still didn't trust the Avengers, and she wasn't sure Ororo and the others really did either. 

Part of her wished Franklin would sneak in her to keep her company, like he had the first time his father had run tests on her. But there was no sign of him. Maybe he didn't want to get grounded again. Nathan had wanted to be in here with her while the machine was running, but Dr. Richards had told him that it would make the results useless. _I can only analyze one power signature at a time. Besides,_ he'd pointed out with a faint smile, _the door won't stop you if she needs you. Just indulge me and have a seat in the hall for now._

Nathan had grumbled, but he'd stayed outside. He hadn't budged from the door, though. Hope started to reach out to him and realized that he was distracted by something, talking to someone telepathically and getting increasingly perturbed. Hope swallowed, retreating back inside her own head. She'd find out soon enough what was going on. More bad news, from the feel of it.

_Share, Reed. Come on. The X-Men are being ridiculously close-mouthed on the subject of what they do or don't know about the Phoenix's reason for coming. There has to be a reason for that. Something they don't want us to know._

Tony Stark was a very... complex person, Hope thought, skimming lightly over the surface of his thoughts. His mind worked like some sort of impossibly complicated machine, with so many moving parts that it was actually hard to read him, at least for someone like her who was only borrowing telepathy. But she was fairly sure that he already had some idea of the answer to his question, and was just asking Dr. Richards to see if someone he respected would confirm it. 

_Why don't you_ ask _one of our Phoenix hosts? We're got two right here to hand..._

Dr. Richards _did_ know, Hope realized. His mind was just as focused as Stark's, but where Stark's was a machine, his was all... orderly patterns. Like equations in light. Though she couldn't quite tell why he _wasn't_ telling Stark. He seemed to feel cautious about the truth. Almost protective. 

_I thought of that. But in case you hadn't noticed, Cable's not being all that communicative today. And I really think we want to avoid any appearance of an Avenger attempting to interrogate Hope._

_Then I'd say let them tell us in their own time. You and your team have a lot to make up for, Tony._ Hope heard Stark start to protest, but Dr. Richards continued calmly. _I know what happened on Utopia wasn't your fault, but the situation is what it is. If you want to salvage it, you've got to trust them. That's the only way they're going to trust you._

#Who knew Reed could be that emotionally literate?# Hope blinked up at the red-haired woman who leaned over the gurney, a sad little smile tugging at her lips as she put her finger to her lips. #Shh.# 

#I know you,# Hope thought, shocked but not all that surprised. Red hair, green eyes - Jean Grey's face, but so much more than Jean Grey. She was in white and gold, and there was something important about that color combination. Something _good_. She just couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was. It was something the Phoenix had told her while she'd been sleeping. 

#And I've known you since the moment you were conceived.# Those luminous green eyes were suddenly so sad that Hope found herself blinking rapidly, trying to hold back tears of her own. #I am so sorry, Hope. For everything you've been through. Some of it was unavoidable and some of it was necessary, but so much of it was cruel.# 

#... what is, is, right?# Hope sent, fighting for composure. The question earned her a gentle smile and a look of such love that the urge to cry quickly faded. One glowing hand reached out as if to stroke her hair; Hope could almost feel it, although she knew perfectly well that 'Jean' wasn't really there.

#I need you to promise me something, sweetheart.# Stark was still badgering Dr. Richards in the control booth, and outside in the hall, Nathan was seething with rage, but Hope kept all her attention on the image of Jean, knowing that this had to be important. #Whatever happens now, you have to stay on Earth. Don't go on that rescue mission. Don't go into space to fight the Shi'ar. Promise me that you'll stay on Earth.#

#But... I can help,# Hope protested. #I can fight. I fought in New York-#

#I know you can fight. I know you'd fight for the people you love until you draw your last breath. It's who you are, and it's not just me seeing your father in you that makes me say that.# At the back of Hope's mind, the Phoenix seemed to open like a flower to the sun, and she was flooded with love and determination and fierce protectiveness. #But we came to Nathan and Rachel for one reason. We came to you for another. You have to make it through this, Hope. You're the only one who can finish it.#

#But I don't want anyone else to die for me!# Hope sent back, embarassed at how hard it suddenly was to keep the tears back. If she had to stay on Earth, Nathan would be going into space without her, just like he'd gone forward in time without her, and the thought terrified her. She couldn't lose him again. She just couldn't.

#You have to live for them, Hope, or all of this was for nothing. I know it's hard. But what you have to do is too important.# She leaned down, and this time Hope _did_ feel the light kiss on her forehead. #Promise me.#

#I promise.#

And then she was gone and the door was sliding open. Nathan strode in, surrounded by fire and ignoring the protests from the control booth. #Hope, get up,# he said, agitated. #We've got to go. We're too exposed here.#

Hope sat up immediately. #What's happened?# But even as she formed the words, their minds connected like magnets drawn to each other by the power they shared.

And she saw two burning houses in Alaska.

* * *

"He's alive?" Warbird said, surprised, as she stepped into the interrogation chamber. "This is not what you told the Chancellor. I was ordered to confirm his death." She had been rather disappointed to hear that Scott Summers had lasted barely twelve hours in the hands of the interrogation specialists before his heart had stopped. Hardly an impressive showing, after all she had heard about the human known as Cyclops during her time at the school. 

"His _first_ death," the senior of the two specialists said as his subordinate moved around the chamber, tending to equipment and stopping once to give the human an injection. "Perhaps the Praetor did not share his plan? A single, conclusive death, even a painful one, may be interpreted merely as reason for revenge. If cooler heads prevail, the Phoenix hosts may even delay in seeking it, which I understand would not serve the interests of our mission..."

"No. It would not." Warbird studied the human thoughtfully. His breathing was shallow, growing more rapid. He bore several visible injuries and the fading marks of others; they must have used a regenerator, to produce such rapid healing. That couldn't be done _too_ often with humans, given their fragile physiology. "We must resolve this before the firebird reaches Earth. The consequences if we fail are... unpalatable."

The specialist watched her intently, as if waiting for more details. Warbird stared back at him coldly until he dropped his eyes. Presumptuous of him to assume she would share what she knew. Even if she had been free to do so, she would not have discussed it; the darkness of the future they were trying to avert still haunted her. 

"In any case," the specialist went on, more meekly, "the Praetor suggested that if we make it clear to them that we are willing to kill and revive him repeatedly, they may act with much more urgency to prevent his suffering. I admit, for all that I've studied the humans it's an interpretation of their psychology that would never have occurred to me."

"Well, the Praetor _is_ human himself, of course," Warbird said absently, her attention flickering to the recording equipment. Once complete, the recording would be transmitted to the Jean Grey School's communications array. "He understands their familial structures far better than we do."

"Very true," the specialist conceded, then glanced at the monitors. "His vital signs are within safe levels again," he told his subordinate. "Strap him into the Kiss," he said, waving a hand at one of the larger pieces of equipment.

Warbird watched the junior specialist start to lift Scott Summers off the table, her hand straying towards the hilt of her sword almost instinctively as she realized that the human was not restrained. That seemed unwise, even if he _had_ been functionally dead.

The impulse was correct, but she was too slow. As soon as the specialist touched him, Scott Summers exploded into action with a speed and ferocity that seemed impossible under the circumstances. 

The second specialist died before she could draw her weapon, his neck snapped in an instant. By the time she got her blade clear of its scabbard, Scott Summers had seized the dead male's sidearm and reached out to haul the senior specialist backwards, using him as a shield. 

"Is there a reason you didn't have him properly restrained?" Warbird demanded incredulously.

"He was r-recovering from cardiac arrest..." the specialist wheezed.

"You utter fool," Warbird snarled at him, moving to block the door.

"Not his fault. Seems like he missed a few things in his studying," Scott Summers rasped, the weapon pressed to the specialist's neck. "Mutant metabolisms are a tricky thing."

"Do you truly believe I'll hesitate to shoot him?" Warbird asked coldly, already plotting her angle of attack. She would have to be sure not to damage him in a way that could not be repaired, or risk the Praetor's wrath. "He is of no consequence. Put the weapon down, or earn yourself more suffering. I will not tell you-"

 _Twice,_ she meant to say, but then the weapon discharged. Warbird stumbled back against the wall, teeth clenched against a scream as searing pain tore through her midsection. Scott Summers shoved the specialist away, shooting him in the head as he stumbled. 

"I didn't have any intention of not killing him. You shouldn't have hesitated," Scott Summers said as Warbird's knees gave out, her hands going slack on her sword. She slid down the wall, gasping for breath and staring up in shocked disbelief as the human moved towards her. He tottered slightly on his feet, as if that deadly whirl of action had sapped what little energy he had. 

But the hand holding the weapon was steady, and at this range he wouldn't miss. "The docking bay. Directions. Now."

Warbird glared back at him silently, fighting for air, and the human reached down and pulled her sword away from her, holding it in a way that suggested he'd used such weapons before. 

"I don't have time for this." His voice sounded almost detached now. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"N-Never."

"Fine."

And she died on her own sword, impaled like the heedless fool she was.


	15. Sacrifice Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott proves that he may be the most stubborn Summers of them all, but the mystery of the Praetor only deepens. Meanwhile, Alex's rogue operation nets a very unexpected prisoner, and Emma seizes the opportunity to blackmail Captain America.

Scott knew he was in trouble. He'd stolen the injector and more of the stimulant they'd given him, but even another dose hadn't helped that much. His mind was alert, but his heart was trying to burst through his ribcage and he couldn't seem to quite catch his breath. The way his legs were threatening to buckle under him was particularly worrisome. Scott ducked into a recessed alcove, letting the wall hold him up for a moment as he forced himself to think.

If he let this turn into a race, he wouldn't win it. That much was obvious. _So you change the terms._ Swallowing past a throat that felt like sandpaper, Scott looked around, trying to orient himself. He might not have found the docking bay but he'd gone far enough to get a sense of the layout of the ship, and this wasn't his first time on a Shi'ar vessel. It wasn't even his first time on a warbird. There were possibilities here. Shi'ar power systems were sophisticated - a ship of this type would have a maze of energy conduits running through its inner hull - but fragile. And there had to be a maintenance access around here somewhere.

If you didn't want to be hunted, one solution was to give the hunters something else to do. If he could cause enough chaos, Scott thought, whatever was wearing Charles's face was going to have a harder time using its telepathy to find him.

_Of course, if I blow up the ship, that's a solution, too._ Maybe even a good one, in the grand scheme of things. He swallowed back a noise that might have been a laugh and started to search. It took only a minute or so to find what he needed. When he got the panel open he found that it was a junction of two conduits, not just one. Even better.

He'd picked up all three sidearms from the dead Shi'ar. It bothered him to sacrifice one, but Shi'ar hand weapons had individual power cells and the right kind of misuse could produce impressively explosive results. Setting the smallest of the three weapons to overload, Scott reached in and laid it against the conduit. His hands were shaking badly enough that it took him too long to put the panel back on, and he took off at a staggering run, knowing he needed to get to a safe distance immediately.

He made it to the end of the hall before the alarms started to shrill. _Someone finally thought to check on Warbird._ That had taken longer than he'd expected. Scott stashed the injector for the stimulants in the pocket of the too-big uniform coat he'd stolen off one of the dead Shi'ar. He was going to need the free hand for the second weapon. The part of him that wasn't preparing was busy counting.

_...seventeen, eighteen, nineteen..._

"Stop, Earther!"

Scott dove around the corner for cover, unable to believe his luck that they'd actually come from behind him. Then again, it had been a fifty-fifty chance. He leaned back out of cover, firing a few times down the hall. Objectively speaking, starting a gunfight in his condition was stupid, but he had to keep them down there at the other end of the hall for just a few seconds longer.

_...twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, come on..._

The conduit exploded, belching green fire and gas. The whole ship rocked and Scott was thrown to the deck, the impact hard enough that he dropped one of his guns and had to scramble to retrieve it. As the roar of the explosion faded, he heard screaming from down the hall. Two voices, at least - no, three injured rather than dead, and that was even better in terms of masking himself from the telepath. Hauling himself back to his feet, he glanced down the hall, eyes widening at what he saw. Gritting his teeth, Scott risked a quick dash into the billowing gas to grab the weapon lying on the deck. He got a burning lungful of the gas for his pains, but the soldier who'd dropped the weapon was too busy screaming and writhing from his burns to argue with him, and now he had the Shi'ar equivalent of a machine gun.

Which meant he could use the power cells in the two smaller guns to wreak a little more havoc.

* * *

"You must find him immediately!" Araki commanded. The first explosion had been bad enough; the second had taken out one of the main conduits supplying the stardrive with power, and killed half the engineering staff along with it. Here on the bridge of the warbird, there were grim faces everywhere she looked. The captain had already ordered the navigator to find them a place to set down on Earth's moon, but Araki could only wonder if they would get that far.

Despite the increasingly dire situation, the Praetor was smiling slightly, fingers to his temple and a distant look in his eyes. "Difficult to find a single well-shielded mind in the midst of several hundred Shi'ar either panicking or preparing themselves to meet Sharra and K'ythri," he murmured. "Very clever, Scott."

A third explosion rocked the ship, and Araki grabbed at the railing beside her, feeling the icy talons of fear close around her heart as the lights flickered. A console exploded, throwing the weapons officer to the deck where he shamed himself with a scream of pain, his hands going up to his burned face. Beside Araki, the Praetor grunted, paling. He bowed his head slightly, a look of deep concentration descending over his features. 

"That was another conduit junction," the engineering officer reported, his voice level as two junior officers dragged the wounded officer away from the remains of his station. On the viewscreen, Earth's moon appeared to tilt, and Araki held tighter to the railing, fighting to keep her expression composed. "Rear manuevering thrusters are down, as are shield generators four through six. I'm attempting to reroute to secondary systems. I may be able to get the thrusters back up..."

Then the ship bucked and heaved, far more violently than it had before. Araki was flung to the deck, the impact hard enough to stun, and she found herself sliding helplessly as the whole ship started to tilt erratically. Someone caught her, hauling her back up to her feet and tucking her protectively under an armored arm.

"-feedback loop in the conduit system!" she heard the engineering officer shouting over the alarms. "Port plasma batteries have overloaded! We are venting atmosphere!"

"Reroute remaining shield energy to seal the hull breach, and get us down!" the captain commanded. "Point us at the Blue Area of the moon!"

"Hold on, Chancellor," the officer who'd caught her grunted. "This is going to be a hard landing."

* * *

_Scott._ The whisper in his mind seemed impossibly distant, as if the voice was reaching across an endless gulf of space. _Scott, wake up. Please, son. You have to get up now, while there's still time..._

Scott dimly remembered crawling into a maintenance tube once he'd heard the captain broadcast his order to brace for impact; it had been the only place close to hand that offered any sort of protection. Yet somehow, he found himself regaining consciousness back on the deck, pinned down by something heavy enough to restrict his breathing. The air was full of an acrid stink that wasn't smoke, and even as his vision went in and out of focus, he saw that the air had a filmy green tint to it. The gas from the ruptured conduits, he thought hazily, and tried not to breathe as he pushed at whatever debris was trapping him. But his left arm wasn't working properly, and his head sagged back against the deck as he fought to focus.

_Scott, please._ The voice was pleading with him now. It wasn't like Charles to sound so desperate. _You have to get out of here. Find a place to hide in the ruins. The team is coming for you, they must be. You just have to buy yourself some time._

Ruins? Scott managed to turn his head and saw the gash in the side of the ship, both the outer and the inner hall blasted open to the outside. As dazed as he was, he knew at once where they were and why he wasn't dead.

The Blue Area of the moon. He hated this fucking place, so much. Biting back a groan, he finally managed to shift what turned out to be a piece of hull plating, buying himself just enough space to crawl out from underneath. Getting up was almost as difficult. His left arm was definitely broken, possibly a couple of ribs with it, and he was so dizzy he fell back to his knees almost immediately, fighting back nausea as he wheezed. The air was clearing of the gas, but it was getting so bitterly cold that he didn't know if it was an improvement. The cold numbed the pain a little, but the waves of dizziness didn't stop, and he sagged forward, bracing himself with his good hand. He had nothing left. No energy at all.

_Get up._ The voice was still a bare whisper, but somehow he knew that if it hadn't been trying to cross that vast distance, it would have been a commanding roar. Scott just couldn't figure out what was going on, where Charles could possibly be. At least this was proof that he wasn't here on the ship calling himself Praetor – wasn't it? _Don't you just sit there and wait for them to take you again! I taught you to_ fight, _boy, not to be a victim!_

Tendrils of that distant presence reached deep into his mind, trying to drive him to his feet. Scott tried to push himself upwards once more and fell again, this time crumpling right to the deck and jarring his broken arm so badly that his vision went red with pain, black pushing in at the edges. The air was so cold his lungs were burning with each breath.

_He'll use you as bait. Do you understand that, Scott? He'll use you to lure your children here and then he'll murder them._ The words were frantic, frantic and angry and almost despairing. _You'll fail them again just like you did all those other times if you DON'T GET UP!_

He couldn't walk. But he _could_ crawl. Scott started to pull himself slowly and painfully towards the hole in the hull. If he could get out of the ship, maybe he could find that hiding place. If he couldn't, at the very least he could get himself to the edge of the Blue Area's atmospheric envelope. He wouldn't let them use him as bait against Nathan and Rachel. If he was exposed to vacuum for long enough, even the Shi'ar wouldn't be able to bring him back. 

He got as far as the break in the hull. But then there was shouting behind him, hands hauling him back into the ship, and the whisper at the back of his mind was gone as if it had never been there in the first place. As if he'd imagined it. Sheer desperate stubbornness gave Scott a last desperate burst of strength, and he struggled with the two Shi'ar who'd recaptured him, managing to get a hand on one's sidearm. He pulled at it desperately as the Shi'ar snarled and hit him across the face, but the gun wouldn't come away from its holster. As he reeled from the blow, Scott shifted tactics and instead of trying to take the weapon, managed to pull its trigger. The weapon discharged, and the Shi'ar crumpled to the deck, screaming and grabbing at the blackened armor around his upper leg. Scott staggered and tried to turn towards the second Shi'ar, but an armored arm locked around his throat from behind and squeezed. Everything went faraway and hazy, and he blacked out so quickly that there was no time for even a moment of despair. 

Some time later, Scott came to with a scream as someone stepped on his broken arm. He opened his eyes, but he didn't recognize where he was, or the Shi'ar standing above him with pure hatred burning in his black eyes. The armor, the tiny part of Scott that was thinking clearly pointed out. The rank markings told the tale. This had to be the warbird's captain.

"Do you how many people of mine you killed?" the captain growled. "Sharra and K'ythri curse you, human." He shifted his weight further onto the booted foot resting on Scott's broken arm, and Scott groaned as bone grated on bone. "If I had my way, I'd kill you for it myself. Slowly."

A wheezing laugh escaped Scott. "No t-time for that. G-Got... a ship to fix, don't you?" The captain lifted his foot, but only so that he could kick Scott in the ribs. He felt another rib crack and fought for enough air to speak, forcing out the words. "One... solitary h-human, blowing up your ship. Should... b-be nicely... embarassing for you. When the r-rest of the fleet gets here."

"You won't goad him into killing you, Scott. He knows better." The false Xavier was there suddenly, standing over him, and the captain was stepping back. "If you somehow managed to do it... well, the ship's infirmary is intact. Are you that eager to be brought back from the dead again?"

Another choked laugh slipped out, and Scott let his head sag back against the deck. "Was... r-really hoping... you'd have fallen and b-broken your neck or something..." He simply could not catch a break.

* * *

He'd thought he was ready for this. Alex took a deep breath, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he studied the burned ruins of his grandparents' house. He'd underestimated how hard it would be to come here and see this for himself. Seeing it, smelling it made it a tangible thing, which just meant that it hurt more. 

"The last time I saw them was just after we got back from space. I came here to tell them that Dad was dead," he said, his voice low. "I think it... broke something in Grandpa, hearing what happened. Losing Dad twice was bad enough. Knowing who killed him was worse."

Lorna slipped her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. "Probably not the time to be thinking too hard about Vulcan," she said, her voice just as soft. Both of them tended to avoid using his brother's first name aloud, as if it bought them some degree of distance they still needed. 

"No?" Alex asked, not quite rhetorically. "I can't help but wonder if they'd have gone this far if he hadn't... broken the Empire." But then, it wasn't just Gabriel at fault for that; Cassandra Nova bore her fair share of blame, too. What little he and the others had managed to do during the civil war didn't make up for any of it.

Still, something else _had_ to have happened. Something that had driven Gladiator to this, even after he'd so conclusively rejected the work of the last Araki and his secret order. Alex only hoped that today would provide some answers, or at least a lead on where they could get those answers. 

Instead of answering, Lorna tilted her head slightly. "EM disturbance," she murmured. "About a hundred meters back in the trees, to the west. Time to make that call?"

"Wait for it," Alex said, his voice just as low. They couldn't have them running off or teleporting away, after all. "I want to see if there's anything worth rebuilding," he said at a more normal volume, drawing her to the west as if to do a walkaround of the ruins. "You and I might want to retire here someday. I think Philip and Deborah would have liked that."

Despite the situation, the comment actually got a smile out of her. It helped to think about the future at times like this, however unrealistic it might be right now to dream about surviving to retirement. _And now I'm just getting morbid._ Arm in arm, they strolled towards the west side of the property, drawing closer to where the Shi'ar were undoubtedly in the process of setting up their ambush.

"They've got some sort of energy projector out there. I can feel him," Lorna murmured in his ear, covering it with a kiss on the cheek. "We are kind of out in the open. I can't guarantee being able to shield us."

"We're close enough, I think." He raised his free hand to the collar of his coat and the communicator hidden there. "Magik? Hundred meters west of our position. Let's box them in."

Illyana was as good as her word, and Emma had helpfully provided satellite access so that she didn't have merely their coordinates, but also a view of the terrain. The stepping disk opened just above the treetops, fifty meters on the other side of the EM disturbance Lorna had identified. Rachel came through first, the firebird blazing into life around her as soon as she was clear of the portal. Abruptly, the forest erupted in frantic activity, two Shi'ar fliers rising at once to engage the Phoenix.

The portal was still open, of course. Piotr came hurtling through a moment later like a giant steel cannonball, and gunfire erupted as he landed amid the trees. A blur Alex knew was Namor followed an instant later.

The disk closed, and a second opened behind them. "Are you certain you wouldn't rather hang back?" Ilyana asked, leaning halfway out. "They'll all target you, Havok."

"Much good may it do them," Alex said grimly. Besides, if they were stupid enough to target only him, they'd only be easy prey for the others. "Get us in there."

"As you wish."

He probably _could_ have hung back, Alex realized a moment later. The two fliers were already down, charred corpses on the ground, and Piotr was hammering grimly away at an alien whose forcefield was developing spiderweb cracks with every blow. Namor shot back into view, dodging what looked like lightning bolts from a third flier before he managed a hairpin turn and slammed into the alien so hard Alex heard bone crunch. He looked up to try and see what Rachel was doing - and whirled rapidly, firing off a blast as he caught movement to his right. The armored Shi'ar didn't have time to scream before the blast took him in the chest, and Alex swore as the energy whip the alien had been carrying caught him a glancing blow on the arm, still enough to sear through his coat and containment suit and scorch his skin before the weapon hit the ground and deactivated.

Beside him, Lorna extended a hand towards the ghostly figure that darted out of cover and toward them - some type of phaser, Alex thought - and the alien went solid and hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. A twitching sack of potatoes; Lorna was just about the worst possible person for someone with that particular powers-set to attack

_Rachel!_ Alex thought, glancing skywards again. Whatever she was doing up there, something was certainly occupying her attention. He heard something that sounded like the roar of an engine, which made no sense at all unless the commandos _hadn't_ teleported in after all. _Where's their commander?_

"Summers!" The bellow came from a giant green alien - a Warskrull, Alex identified coolly at a glance. It lumbered through the trees, coming directly at him.

At the same time, in his peripheral vision, Alex spotted a blast of blue-white fire knock Namor out of the air. He glanced at Lorna. "Help Namor," he said briefly. "I've got this." She nodded and took to the air, and he turned his attention back to his opponent.

The markings on the Warskrull's weapons harness told him that he'd found the leader of this commando unit. So Alex aimed for its knees instead of center mass. The Warskull stumbled and howled, shapeshifting flesh already sealing the wounds. Alex merely scowled and kept up the pressure, aiming for its extremities. Even a Skrull couldn't handle _too_ much damage...

Lorna shouted his name in the same instant that a forcefield formed around him and started to fill with some kind of purplish gas. _This is where I cross my fingers that I don't blow myself up..._ Alex squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath, and let a significant portion of the energy in his system explode outwards in all directions, rather than channeling it into a single blast. 

The forefield blew apart, the gas vaporizing instantly. He had more than enough power left to turn and take out the alien who'd just tried to kill him with a blast to the face. The distraction cost him, though; the Warskrull was back on its feet and _right there_ , damn it, and Alex caught a massive fist in the midsection. The impact was hard enough to send him flying into a tree.

But by then, Rachel had descended back into the fight. The raptor's scream echoed through the forest as its fiery talons slammed the Warskrull flat against the ground. Alex pushed himself back upright, biting back a grunt of pain - at least one cracked rib, from the feel of it - and waved off Lorna's concern. Namor was right behind her, looking irritated and singed, and the two Rasputins were approaching from the other side of the firebird.

"We clear?" Alex asked Rachel, breathing hard. She nodded. "What had you tied up?"

#I'll show you in a minute. This is their commander, but we don't need it,# she said, inclining her head at the Warskrull. #It doesn't know anything beyond its orders. Philip, Deborah, you if you showed up.# The fiery talons tightened spasmodically. #It shot Deborah in the head while Philip watched.#

_Then this is a wash,_ Alex had been about to say – before Rachel had added that last comment. All the disappointment and frustration he'd been feeling iced over in an instant. He stared down at the struggling Warskrull, his expression flat. 

"If we don't need it," Alex said, his voice quiet but the words very precise, "kill it." And he watched her do it, watched the shapeshifter scream and writhe as it combusted from the inside out, and didn't feel the slightest flicker of remorse.

This was war. If they weren't going to fight the Shi'ar on their own terms, they might as well roll over and die right now. He glanced at Lorna, who gazed back at him steadily, then gave him a fractional nod. Piotr was bleak-faced, his sister was smiling slightly, and Namor merely looked disgruntled, turning away from the dying alien without a backward glance and brushing irritably at his clothes.

"Now," Alex said when it was done. "What did you have to show us?" Something worth the trip, he hoped. Not that he minded making sure that the aliens responsible for his grandparents' death were dead. _No, I don't mind that at all._ But it would be nice to have something concrete to show for going behind Captain America's back like this.

Rachel glanced to the west, and something wrapped in red-gold psionic flame was abruptly being pulled towards them, its passage snapping trees like toothpicks. Alex recognized it immediately; it was a Shi'ar scoutship, one of the small two-man models. 

#I nearly destroyed it when it started shooting at me,# Rachel said, almost idly. #I'm very glad I didn't.# She slammed the scoutship down in the clearing where they stood, the firebird's claws reaching down to tear the canopy away.

There was only one person inside. A _young_ person, and not a Shi'ar. The skin wasn't as purple as it should be and the mohawk was a garish red, but the resemblance was obvious enough.

"Dear God. Is that who I think it is?" Lorna asked slowly.

#Hello, Kubark,# Rachel hissed, the firebird leaning in close as the crown prince of the Shi'ar struggled in her telekinetic grip, glaring at her. #Did we run away from home, little prince? Please tell me your father knows where you are. I'd like that very much.#

* * *

It didn't take much effort to corner Rogers in the end. When the X-Men had showed up at SHIELD headquarters to hand over young Kubark – a gesture of good will and apology for going behind the Avengers' backs, not to mention much more convenient than trying to hold onto the youngster themselves – Emma had seized the opportunity. While Ororo and Alex had been busy explaining themselves to Stark and the others, she had slipped away and gone in search of the man who'd been avoiding her, using her telepathy to make sure that her teammates wouldn't notice her absence and none of the SHIELD agents walking the halls would see her. It took only slightly more concentration to reach a little farther and ensure that none of the agents watching security feeds saw her either. 

Rogers wasn't far, of course. She'd known he would oversee things with Kubark, to make sure the young prince was safely contained but treated well. It was the type of man Steve Rogers was. Besides, the X-Men had dropped a priceless strategic asset in his lap, one that brought with it certain conundrums. Of course he would find a quiet corner to brood.

"I suppose this is where I offer you a penny for your thoughts, Commander," Emma said as she stepped into the observation booth, barely sparing a glance for the prince below them in the containment room. Clearly SHIELD was aware of the capabilities of Strontians like Kubark and his father; the place looked relatively secure. 

Rogers stiffened, then turned slowly towards her. By the time their eyes met, she knew why he'd made a point of not being in the same room with her since the X-Men had arrived in New York. If she hadn't had something very important on her mind, something she needed him for rather badly, she would have blasted his mind into gibbering semi-consciousness without a moment's regret. As it was, it took an act of sheer will to keep her expression calm and level. 

"I thought we had an agreement, Frost," he said after a moment, sounding more weary than angry. "Your team and mine. Cooperation."

"Cooperation isn't supervision," Emma said, unable to quite keep the edge out of her words. He had a lot of gall. "Alex was quite capable of managing this on his own; he didn't need the Avengers underfoot. I'd recommend not trying to call him on the carpet about it, by the way. He may appear to be in control of himself, but between his grandparents being slaughtered in their home and his brother's fate in question, I would say his temper is a trifle chancy. Tell me, what will you do with our fugitive prince?"

Rogers stared at her for a moment longer, his expression neutral, then seemed to surrender to the inevitable. "The way I see it, there seem to be two basic options on the table," he said quietly. "Keep him here as leverage against the Shi'ar, or send him home as an expression of good will."

"I see. Just the two, then?" _Idiot,_ she thought, but didn't say. Even entertaining the second option was rank foolishness. One didn't attempt to placate the Shi'ar; they would only see it as a sign of weakness. "I suppose you have a preference?" she inquired mildly.

"You might remember that my involvement in all of this started when I wouldn't trade Hope's life for what Brand perceived to be the greater good. Kubark gets the same consideration." Rogers took a deep breath, resting a hand against the windowframe and staring down at the alien teenager who prowled the confines of his cell. "Logan and Ms. Pryde think he should be back at the school, if we aren't going to send him back to Chandilar."

"Oh, yes. Let's send the stowaway prince back to Logan's merry band of delinquents and see what other trouble he can find. You really are such a _good_ man, aren't you?" Emma joined him at the windows. "So determined to do the right thing. The moral thing." Steve winced, as if something she'd said had drawn blood. _So much the better._ "Yet you can't turn off the part of you that thinks strategically, and that bothers you. You don't want to be the type of person who'd use a teenager as a game piece. But you just can't silence that practical little voice in the back of your mind."

On a different day, she might have been sympathetic. Once upon a time, she had walked away from doing that sort of thing herself. Had sworn to herself that she would do better, that none of her children would ever have to fear her manipulating them for her own purposes. She'd even done a reasonably good job of holding to that oath. 

But Kubark was not her student. And there was another life at stake, one infinitely dearer to her than the prince of a would-be genocidal empire. 

"What do you want, Frost?" Steve looked down at her again, outwardly calm but inwardly... unsettled. The man was overly righteous, but not stupid. He knew there was more to this conversation than Kubark. He knew she knew what he hadn't wanted her to know. Possibly he even realized that he was standing on a precipice where the tiniest of pushes from her would send him toppling into the abyss. 

"I want to give you what you want," Emma said, each word precise. "I want you to be able to send Kubark back to his murdering father's loving embrace, and feel like you've done the right thing. But... I want to see Scott Summers walking towards us as Kubark walks away." She smiled thinly at him. "A trade. I think that's only fair, don't you? Two lives spared, instead of just one."

"If I say no?"

"Then I go back to the others and tell them that you've been taking advice from Wanda Maximoff." Emma tilted her head at him as he paled. She went on in that same careful, judicious tone. "Which you and I both know will shatter this alliance into a thousand pieces before it even gets started. Because once they know that, once they know you've been hiding _her_... they will never trust you again."


	16. Order and Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank visits Emma's penthouse and sees for himself what the Phoenix is doing to its three hosts. Nathan and Rachel are already starting to slip, and Hope is channeling another redhead of Hank's acquaintance. In the process of clearing up Hank's blind spot with regards to why the Phoenix is here in the first place, Hope makes a very disturbing discovery. Elsewhere, Scott gets more clues as the nature of the Praetor, but the mystery only deepens.

There was very little for him to do but wait while the message about Kubark made its way to Chandilar. A response would take another day or two at least, and Hank knew that locking himself in his lab for the duration would not be a productive response to the stresses of the situation. Besides, given how little data they had actually gathered on the three Phoenix hosts before the three of them had opted to stop cooperating, there wasn't much _to_ do in the lab.

When he'd left Avengers Tower for Emma's penthouse, it had been with the intention of trying to convince Nathan or Rachel to come to the Baxter Building for more tests. (He knew better than to even raise the possibility of Hope.) It had been a short trip, but just long enough for him to be honest with himself. He wanted to see his friends. He hadn't, yet; he had avoided even Ororo, both times she had come to the Tower. Sheer cowardice on his part, Hank knew. Cowardice and guilt. Abby was out of reach in a SHIELD holding facility, but surely they would wonder why he hadn't watched her more carefully. Why he hadn't seen. It wasn't as if she had never demonstrated her willingness to go to extremes in the name of her duty to protect Earth.

Surprisingly, the concierge at Emma's building smiled and welcomed him by name, and Hank soon found himself in the elevator heading upwards. Had he been expected? he wondered uneasily. He was greeted at the door by Bobby, who looked simultaneously glad to see him and worried - _for_ him, Hank realized as his friend looked him up and down, clearly checking for signs of injury.

"You look good for a man who survived a space station getting blown up around him," Bobby finally said, grimacing. "Look, Hank, I'm sorry I took off like that on Utopia. But after what happened, I just..."

"Bobby." Hank laid a clawed hand on his friend's arm, squeezing gently. "If we start apologizing, we'll both be at it all day. Shall we just take it as a given?" He tried to say it lightly, to not be _too_ relieved that things were this easily mended between them. Bobby hadn't been there during the attack, after all. Like Hank, he had come too late.

"Sounds like a plan," Bobby said, letting his breath out on a sigh and mustering a weak smile. "You know me. I prefer to avoid the awkward moments."

As they moved from the foyer into the main living area of the penthouse, Hank found it occupied by a number of familiar faces. The Utopian refugees were staying either here or at another of Emma's New York properties, a townhouse on the Upper East side; none had taken Steve up on his offer of secure accomodations at SHIELD. Hank smiled kindly at Laurie and Noriko, who'd had their heads together reviewing something on a laptop. He felt his smile waver a little in the next moment as he registered the overt hostility with which the Stepford Cuckoos were regarding him.

"Put the fangs away, girls." Sitting at the long glass table by the window, Nemesis looked up from his work, offering Hank a very faint smile. "You'll have to forgive them, McCoy. They're suffering from a massive psionic inferiority complex, being in the same penthouse as three actual Phoenix hosts."

One of the girls sniffed. Phoebe, Hank thought. "We've had quite enough-"

"-of the Phoenix, thank you, Doctor Nemesis. Hope and the others-"

"-are welcome to it. It's not as if it's going to end well." Chins raised in identical expression of hauteur, the three girls rose in unison and headed down the hall that Hank assumed led to the bedrooms. 

They had always liked their dramatic exits, Hank remembered, although part of him was busy mulling over what they'd said. Pessimism? Or were they picking up something that non-telepaths wouldn't? He wished Emma was here. She'd always had more insight into the way their hive mind.

"You know," Bobby said once the girls were out of earshot, clearly striving for a light tone, "I think they've actually gotten creepier since we've been at the school, Hank, and I didn't think that was possible."

"It would behoove those who escaped into academia not to question the coping mechanisms of those of us who stayed behind on the front lines," Nemesis said, and although his tone was conversational, there was a hint of something more unfriendly in the way he regarded Bobby and Hank both. "Now. McCoy, was this a social call?"

Hank swallowed back the sharp retort part of him wanted to make - he didn't have the right, not under these circumstances - and simply shook his head. "I was hoping to speak to Nathan or Rachel," he said quietly. "I understand why they've opted to stay close to the penthouse since the news about their grandparents, but we need more data on what's happening, James..."

"'We' do, do we?" Nemesis closed his laptop, giving his white suit jacket a sharp tug and raising an eyebrow at Hank. "Well, _Henry_ , they're in the office at the end of the hall. Feel free to go knock on the door and see if they're up for playing experimental subjects."

"Or we could _not_ play nasty tricks on Hank," Bobby said, giving Nemesis an irritated look before he turned his attention back to Hank. "I wouldn't," he said more soberly. "I really wouldn't. I went down earlier to see if they wanted any lunch, and, well... I guess you might call it a telepathic 'don't disturb' sign? Except that it didn't just tell me they didn't want to be interrupted. I was walking down the hall, and then I was back out here, sitting on the couch. I lost ten minutes, Hank."

"Twelve and a half," Nemesis said smoothly, "counting from when you first reappeared. I was timing you. You were also mumbling a number of interesting things about buzzing bees, blind spots, and burning things. For a moment I thought you might have had a psychotic break-" Bobby gave him an even more aggravated look. "-but then I put two and two together."

Hank couldn't help a slight shudder. "Do you think they did it deliberately?" he asked in a low voice, and immediately felt foolish. If they wanted to overhear him, speaking quietly wasn't going to help.

"I very much doubt it. Drake's just weak-minded," Nemesis said dismissively. "I did tell him not to bother. Neither they nor the girl have been particularly interested in eating since they woke up."

Hank felt his ears twitch in interest. "I'd wondered about that," he said thoughtfully. "Just from the results of the tests we did manage to do. They're channeling so much psionic energy that it makes sense that their caloric needs would be minimal."

"So they're not eating _or_ sleeping and that's perfectly okay?" Bobby asked with a grimace. "You know, _when_ we get Scott back, I'd kind of like to be able to tell him that we managed to keep his kids intact when he was gone." Hank couldn't help a flinch at the mention of Scott; Nemesis, on the other hand, merely snorted. 

"Who said anything about them being okay, Drake?" Nemesis asked bluntly. "The Cuckoos probably have it right. The physiological strain the hosts are under is massive. Long-term, that doesn't bode well." He tugged a portable drive free of a port on his laptop and extended it to Hank without rising from his chair. "By the way, McCoy? There are countless ways to acquire the necessary data. Ways that _don't_ involve trying to browbeat twitchy cosmic avatars into cooperation. Passive sensors and round-the-clock monitoring can accomplish remarkable things. You might want to climb off your high horse from time to time and consult your colleagues in such situations. Even if they're on the wrong side of the ideological fence."

Hank took the drive, biting back a sigh. "James. Thank you. I-"

"Doctor McCoy?" The voice was Hope's. All three of them looked towards the stairs to see the girl floating down from the upper level of the penthouse, glowing softly. She was outwardly calm, but was regarding Hank with a peculiar sort of intensity. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of... course, Hope," Hank said a little uncertainly - and blinked as she headed for the balcony without a backward glance. "...apparently we're having this conversation outside, then," he said helplessly. 

"Just mind your manners, McCoy," Nemesis said sardonically. "Let's not anger the firebird gods this afternoon if we can avoid it."

* * *

Earth was wrapped in a cloak of seemingly infinite stars, each point of light a single mind. Surfacing once more from that sea of light, their linked minds soared again towards the moon, searching for a handful of stray lights, for a ship's worth of alien minds. They _should_ be there, the Shi'ar crew and their single human prisoner. 

And yet again, no matter how hard they looked, they found no sign of life in the area just outside Earth's atmosphere. No trace of the warbird. But the stargate on the edge of the solar system was quiet, and the Phoenix's instinctive awareness of the currents of the universe around it revealed none of the gravitational disruptions that would suggest it had been used recently by anything larger than a courier drone. 

That meant the warbird _had_ to be here somewhere. Something was hiding it from them. They sank back into the sea of light, unsettled anger flickering up and down their link. The Phoenix flared with its own frustration, kindling that anger even further. It wanted Scott back, too. They needed him. His absence had knocked things badly out of balance. 

Nathan separated his mind from Rachel's with some effort. The lines between them were blurred, indistinct. For a moment he was looking out from her eyes, seeing himself, and the disorientation was slow to pass even when he was clear of the link. The Phoenix receded, becoming that fiery sea at the back of his mind once more. 

#This is _not_ working,# he observed. They were being blinded. There was no other explanation. 

#I know. We're going to have to go and look for ourselves,# Rachel said, shaking off her own daze with what seemed like as much difficulty as he'd had. They'd been at their search for Scott for too long. The Phoenix might be inexhaustible, but they weren't. #Whatever it is, I bet it's only effective at a distance. I know you don't want to leave Hope-# 

#What about this trade? Shouldn't we wait to see if they go for it?# He really didn't want to leave Hope. As desperate as he was to see Scott safe, the thought of leaving Earth and leaving Hope behind terrified him. If there was one blind spot, there could be others. Something could come for her, something he couldn't see. The thought provoked such a storm of emotion that only dogged concentration kept it from manifesting telekinetically. There was such a short distance between thought and reality now. #We should wait and see,# he repeated, focusing on the words as a way of trying to distract himself from the still-simmering panic. 

#Don't be an idiot,# Rachel growled at him, the rose-gold of her thoughts darkening to crimson and crackling with anger, and Nathan found himself presented with another distraction - and not a pleasant one. Rachel was worrying him. Her thoughts had been burning darker and hotter since she'd come back from Alaska. The commando unit hadn't been enough for her, he knew; she wanted more Shi'ar to kill. 

#The Shi'ar won't go through with it,# she continued, almost in a snarl. #They'll pretend to, but Rogers or whoever he sends will walk right into an ambush. You know that as well as I do. How many times do we have to play this game?#

#We could go with them,# Nathan suggested, trying to think strategically. #Ambush them before they ambush us. We could wind up with both Scott back _and_ Kubark as a hostage.# The thought appealed. Rather a lot, and Nathan wondered why it didn't bother him more, to realize that he _liked_ the idea of using someone else's child as a shield. He examined that lack of empathy, trying to fill the void, to imagine himself in Gladiator's place. 

But the right emotions simply wouldn't stir. He just felt cold and angry and tired, and so desperate it hurt. He wanted his father back, he wanted his daughter safe, and he wanted the flonqing Shi'ar to _go away_. Pulling off a double-cross before the Shi'ar could do it themselves was strategically sound, but it would be impossible to sell it to the Avengers. They'd want to keep him and Rachel well clear of this, for fear of provoking the Imperium further. He could predict that, Nathan thought in frustration. He just couldn't figure out a way to counter the argument. 

#Why let them set the terms?# Rachel demanded indignantly, seething at him. #You're playing by their rules. That's a stupid thing to do, Nate.# Clear in her thoughts was the obvious desire to force the issue, if need be. She wouldn't even hesitate. He could sense it. 

#I'm trying to work with what we have,# he protested grimly, fighting the almost magnetic draw of her anger. Her anger, the Phoenix's anger... like two notes in a chord, and he could hear the third note echoing through him. It would be so easy just to let go. Part of him wasn't even sure why he was fighting. #Do you want them turning on us?# he growled at her, almost desperately. One of them had to keep an eye on the big picture.

#Fuck them.# She reached out and grabbed his wrist, and the flames that had been flickering around both of them grew and roared into furious life until both of them were sheathed in nimbuses of fire. All the furniture in the room was trembling. #To hell with the Avengers. They'll turn on us in the end, anyway. They're tolerating us right now because they need us, but they're _terrified_.#

#I know they are. That's not a good thing, Ray.# But as the fire flooded through him, it seemed to... matter less. Control was slipping away, and memories of the attack on Utopia were everywhere, like his mind had turned into a hall of mirrors and all he had to do was step through and he'd be there with the dead. One mirror drew him, and that sense of disassociation returned. He was there in the office with Rachel, but he was also stepping through the mirror onto Utopia, kneeling down beside Dom's motionless body and closing her eyes. Every sense he had told him it was real. There was the smell of smoke and death, and as much as he told himself that this hadn't happened, that he only wished he'd had this moment to say goodbye, it did feel _so_ real...

#The Phoenix could take us to Chandilar,# Rachel whispered to him, sounding somehow lost and vehement at the same time. #You and me. We could end it for good. All we have to do is want it enough, and we can make it happen...# The memory that ensnared them both wasn't theirs, but the Phoenix's. The feel of a sun, fracturing beneath the firebird's talons... 

Part of him liked the memory. Too much. It even added the image of Gladiator, screaming in the void as he watched his world swallowed in flame - and that, finally, was enough to shock him back to his senses. Nathan gritted his teeth, and mustered enough focus to break the link and twist his wrist out of Rachel's grasp. 

" _Don't do that,_ " he growled, the Phoenix's resonance filling his voice as she stared back at him, wild-eyed. " _If we just burn through everything that stands in our way, nothing Hope does will matter. **And I won't allow that.**_ " The Phoenix _sang_ through him, pure and clear and fierce.

Sang in him, and seethed in Rachel. She leaned back in her chair, the flames around her darkening even further, to an angry ruby color. She was on the verge of an equally ferocious retort - he could sense both it and the power gathering around her, could all but _taste_ how close she was to lashing out at him, and his own anger soared. 

_**#Don't you test me!#**_ he roared at her telepathically, and the room was full of white light as books and other objects fell off the shelves and desk. He heard glass shatter; the windows, he thought distantly. 

Then, someone was hammering at the door. "Mindwipe me for this if you want," they heard Nemesis call, sounding tense, "but if you're going to blow up the penthouse, could we have, oh, five minutes to evacuate first?"

And they _were_ going to blow up the penthouse if they didn't stop, Nathan realized. He took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself back to calm. The white light faded, the vibrations ceasing just as abruptly. Rachel's hand went to her mouth as she powered down as well, the wildness in her eyes turning to dread. 

"Go away," he called back in his own voice, if unsteadily. "We're fine." He sensed Nemesis debate the issue for a moment before resolving that the immediate danger seemed to have passed and a strategic retreat was in order. 

"Oh God," Rachel breathed, much more softly. "I'm slipping, Nate."

"I know." He couldn't say he was doing much better. "What are we doing wrong?" he asked, his voice harsh and strained. "It shouldn't be happening this fast. It shouldn't be happening to you at all - you've done this before!" Part of him had been counting on her to be the old hand here, to help him and Hope sort out how to stay in control.

"Something's different. I don't think it's just us." She swallowed, blinking rapidly. Her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Anger is... coming a lot easier than it did. It _wants_ to burn."

* * *

Leaning back against the balcony railing, Hope watched Doctor McCoy talking to Nemesis. He'd been about to follow her out to the balcony when the disturbance from the office had started, at which point he'd gotten thoroughly distracted. Nemesis, at least, understood a little of what was going on with Nathan and Rachel; while he looked grim, his mind wasn't darting around in a frenzy of uneasiness and internal debate like Beast's. To be fair, he'd had more time to get used to the situation, she supposed.

McCoy finally turned and headed towards the glass doors, offering her a slightly unsteady smile as he rejoined her on the balcony. "My apologies, Hope. I didn't mean to seem like I was ignoring you. I simply wanted to ensure that we were not about to be interrupted by the building collapsing." He stopped, eyeing her with a puzzled look. "You're... not actually bothered by what just happened, are you?"

It was an observation more than a question. Hope shrugged. "I'm worried about them," she said candidly, "but I know why they're having trouble."

"And... why is that, precisely?" McCoy asked, adjusting his glasses as he peered down at her. A dozen different theories were spinning around in his head; Hope could see each of them. All of them were wrong, amusingly enough.

"They don't have a target at the moment. They'll settle down when they do." Gazing up at him, Hope realized that he really did have no idea what was happening here. It seemed hard to believe. He was _so_ smart, and she knew from what some of the others had told her that he'd tried to figure out a way to reverse what Wanda Maximoff had done.

And yet, she could see it in his mind. The belief that she was just... some sort of anomaly. He still hadn't made the connection between her powers and the Phoenix. Maybe he didn't want to, she thought, watching the patterns of his thought shift like sunlight on water. He was afraid of the Phoenix, she could sense it. But that wasn't the only thing contributing to his blind spot.

#You've made the decision that the mutant race is doomed and you're sticking to it, is that it?# Hope didn't realize she'd actually projected the question to him until he twitched, his eyes widening.

"Hope... I'm sorry?" McCoy said, looking flustered. "Where on Earth did that come from?"

Dimly, she was aware that she was starting to glow again as her anger started to stir. It wasn't like Nathan and Rachel's anger; there was no urge to burn. She was just frustrated. The _Phoenix_ was frustrated. The man standing in front of them should have been an ally, and he _wasn't_.

" _You should be able to see. It really pisses me off that you can't,_ " she said aloud, hearing her voice alter, picking up the Phoenix's eerie resonance. McCoy started to take a step back then held his ground, the flustered look turning wary. The Phoenix murmured at the back of Hope's mind, but in a different, kinder voice. Making a suggestion, and Hope agreed, letting her own consciousness recede in an internal adjustment that felt as natural as breathing. 

She wasn't good with words, after all. And Jean had known this man a lot better.

" _You shouldn't have given up, Henry. I know it's been hard. You've been afraid of what your mutation is doing to you for so long._ " Watching from a distance, Hope saw herself step forward and lay a glowing hand on McCoy's arm. " _But you know, don't you? Deep down, you know that what Wanda did was wrong and that it can't be allowed to stand. I know you tried your best to figure out a way to reverse it. I love you for that. You made yourself persevere, even when part of you thinks what she did might have been a blessing._ "

He recoiled, his expression stunned. She sensed him struggling for control, to quiet the sudden storm of questions and doubts. He was evaluating the change in her demeanor, too, and this time, coming to the correct conclusion. "Hope?" he asked dubiously. "Can you hear me?"

It really was a silly, cliched sort of reaction. The Phoenix was amused. " _She's here. But who do you think she is, Henry? Really? You've had the truth staring you in the face all the way along. Scott knows. Scott's known since he first held her._ " There was a strange mixture of pride and love and burning anger at that thought; Hope shared it, although she knew it wasn't entirely hers. The Phoenix wanted Scott back - needed him, in a way Hope didn't quite understand yet.

McCoy's nose twitched violently. "You're claiming you can reverse M-Day. That's it, isn't it." The words suddenly started to spill out, as if acknowledging her meaning had opened the floodgates. "This is ridiculous," he went on in growing agitation. "Ridiculous and _dangerous_. You have no idea how much. Hope... Jean... Phoenix, good lord, which of you I'm talking to right now! What Wanda did is wound into the fabric of the multiverse. Stephen Strange told me that trying to break her spell could cause reality to implode! And you're proposing to... what? To simply undo it?"

_**#To burn it away.#**_ Hope's awareness shifted back to the forefront of her own mind, but she still shared the Phoenix's absolute certainty. It wasn't science. It wasn't magic, or even faith. It was truth. _**#It's wrong,#**_ she went on, raising a hand. The glow that surrounded her grew bright enough to burn through one layer of reality and show Hank the lattice of crimson light all around them, stretching into infinity. _**#Don't you see? We're in a cage. It's unnatural, and it's not the way things are supposed to be. So yes, we're going to burn it away. Are you really going to stand there and tell us we shouldn't?#**_

"Yes." The word sounded like it had been torn out of McCoy's chest, like part of him couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "I'm saying you shouldn't. The risk is too great. We don't have the right to do this, just for the sake of making more mutants-"

**_#Making more mutants?#_** She couldn't quite stifle the disbelief in the words, and the flames around her flickered to a warning red, starting to form the shape of the firebird. If he wasn't going to be an ally, if he was going to make himself an obstacle...

**_#This isn't about 'making' mutants. If someone's nailed boards over your windows, does removing them mean you're making light?#_** He was getting ready to argue with her, and the Phoenix hissed at him, fiery wings unfolding. **_#You hate what you are so much that you can't see clearly, is that it? This is the shape of things to come! The Scarlet Witch warped the universe out of spite and anger, and-#_**

And Hank McCoy was suddenly and abruptly forgotten. She had been concentrating on that crimson lattice - on the _cage_ , intensely enough that her awareness of it had expanded in one of those dizzying perspective shifts she was starting to realize were part of hosting the Phoenix. One moment, you were seeing things at the level of their component molecules; the next, you were dazzled by the big picture.

She was seeing the cage from a distance now, and there was something else, something she hadn't noticed yet. A bright knot in the lattice, at its very heart. The more carefully she looked at it, the more obvious it became that the cage emanated outwards from that knot. It was the foundation, holding it all together.

Not 'it'. She.

* * *

He was climbing over bare block rock, sharp edges cutting into his hands as he hauled himself upwards. The air was thin and cold, and thin clouds streamed across the night sky above at a dizzying speech. There was light coming from above, eerie blueish light that wasn't moonlight or anything else natural. Somehow, part of him knew that once he got to the top and saw what was waiting for him, this was all going to get so much worse. _I'm dreaming,_ Scott thought dimly, trying to examine that strange sense of foreboding. He'd passed out in his cell. One of the Shi'ar had hit him too hard or something...

Except dreams had a way of meaning entirely too much these days. They were messages, or warnings, and he had no choice but to listen. Scott grunted in pain as the rock sliced into his left hand even more deeply, blood trickling freely down his arm. Having two good arms didn't prove this was a dream, he reminded himself. The Shi'ar had repaired the injuries he'd suffered in the crash - and then inflicted more, but whatever this was, wherever he was, he couldn't remember what should and shouldn't hurt. The Shi'ar warbird and the Blue Area of the Moon felt like something that had happened years ago.

He reached the top of the rock face, hauling himself up over the edge, and a shuddering breath escaped him as he saw the tree. It was vast, unfathomably vast, black leafless branches reaching up through the clouds. It seemed like it was miles away, but the glow coming from it lit the whole blasted landscape.

There were... objects in the branches, hanging blue crystals. They were the source of the light, but from this distance, he couldn't make out any features that might have told him what they were. He shivered as he realized there were shapes crawling back and forth between them, twisted figures that were the same black as the tree. There was something... horrific about the whole scene. Obscene. It made him feel nauseated and apprehensive, and _angry_. He was looking at something worth hating. Something that needed to be destroyed.

But he was only one man, and the part of him that understood how _wrong_ the tree was also knew that he didn't dare get any closer. He wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to see this, and if they realized...

_Scott._ Charles's voice was tired and so sad that it wrenched at his heart. _Oh, Scott. I am so sorry. I would have done anything to stop this. But they've taken everything. Almost everything. All I can do is warn you._

One of the crystals was pulsing, brighter and faster than the others. It drew his attention to it, and he flinched at the way the black shapes all seemed to converge on it. It was drawing attention to itself, he thought dimly, and there'd be consequences for that. 

Charles was speaking more quickly, as if he was running out of time. _They think they see the future. They don't. They predict, analyze, but it's all based on the fear of losing control. They are order in its purest and most malevolent form._

Scott looked up - and froze as he saw that the clouds were changing, turning into... text, into something that was almost but not quite the Shi'ar language he knew. Glowing blue like the crystals in the tree, it streamed across the sky as quickly as the clouds had. He could feel a strangely harmonic vibration in the rock beneath his feet, as if the glowing words and the wind were combining to create some kind of unearthly music.

_The Phoenix is their antithesis. They're afraid of what it can do, and they're here to kill it. They_ can _kill it. I've shown them the way, God help me._ Charles's voice was full of pain and desolation. _Don't let them be the ones who write the future, Scott. When the time comes... don't hesitate._


	17. Tomorrow When The War Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teacher notices something amiss with one of her students, the forces of order are revealed, a scientist takes a chance on faith, and two Phoenixes prepare to fly to the moon.

Steve stepped into the observation booth overlooking Kubark's temporary accommodations, frowning. "Security said you wanted to see me?" he asked, going over to join Kitty Pryde by the one-way glass. He was rather surprised to see her up here rather than down there with the Shi'ar prince. The young headmistress of the Jean Grey School had been a regular visitor over the last three days, at her insistence. 

Not that Steve had argued with her. Kubark was as comfortable as they could make him while still ensuring he wouldn't become a danger to the people around him (which was easier said than done given the young alien's capabilities), but the boy probably deserved and needed to have one completely committed advocate around here. There were still people who wanted to see him interrogated before he was returned to his people. Steve had flatly refused, of course - Kubark was a minor even by Shi'ar standards - but it didn't hurt to have an ally in doing so. 

"Thanks for coming," Kitty murmured, not looking away from the glass. "I know you've got a lot on your plate right now."

"Don't worry about it. If there's something wrong here, I need to know it." His frown deepened as he gazed down at the young Strontian. Kubark was watching something on the television he'd been provided, and although he was scowling distractedly, he didn't seem to be in any distress. "Is he all right?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Kitty said, an odd note in her voice. "If he wasn't Strontian, I'd be suggesting one of your Psi Division do a discreet scan."

Steve's head jerked around and he gave her a startled look that was quickly overtaken by concern. "That was... not on my list of answers I'd thought you might give to that question." To call it 'out of the blue' would be understating the case.

"Trust me, it's not something I default to. I know it's not an option. I'm just... wishing it were."

From the briefing he'd been given on Strontians and their abilities when this containment area had been readied, Steve knew that the intensity of telepathic effort necessary to break through the boy's natural defenses was _not_ something he could ever sanction with a kid. Then Kitty's meaning finally clicked, and he gritted his teeth, leaning away as he processed the realization. 

"You think someone's messed with his head."

"I think it's a possibility," Kitty said. "I know this is a stressful situation for him. He's a prisoner on a planet with three Phoenix hosts, and he's been raised to be terrified of what it can do. An hour ago, I'd have said that was the problem. But then I finally asked him why he'd come back to Earth."

"And he couldn't tell you?" That had downright terrifying implications. If Gladiator hadn't sent his son here himself, if someone else had manipulated the boy... _what the_ hell _is going on?_ Earth holding the heir to the Empire prisoner made an awfully good argument for a full-scale invasion, Steve thought uneasily. Did the Shi'ar need one? _If the Phoenix manifestation isn't enough of one, what does_ that _mean?_

"Not quite. I expected him to tell me that he was just being reckless. That he'd come back here to get in on the fighting or something like that." Kitty turned away from the glass, arms folded tightly across her midsection and her tone increasingly somber as she went on. "That would have been perfectly in character for him. But instead, he seemed... confused. First he said his father would be angry with him. Then he told me that the Praetor had insisted."

"Praetor was Gladiator's title as head of the Imperial Guard, yes?" Steve asked. Kitty nodded, and Steve scowled, trying to sort through the possibilities. "Not someone who can give orders to the Majestor."

"No. Not at all. And I have a hard time imagining Gladiator letting _any_ subordinate of his insist on bringing his son along on an expeditionary mission that involved facing the Phoenix. He evacuated him before all this started, remember? That's why it made no sense to me when Alex and Rachel found him in Alaska."

"Is there _any_ chance at all the boy's just lying?" Steve grimaced apologetically as she scowled at him. "I have to ask. He wouldn't be the first teenager to invest a story to cover his own misbehaviour."

"I really don't think so. I've been around telepaths for most of my life, Commander," Kitty said with a sigh. "I've talked to people whose minds have been altered. There are telltale signs. You've got video of everything that goes on inside, right?" He nodded, and she went on. "Take a look at it. When I pressed him on the details of what happened just before he left Chandilar, he kept repeating himself. Same words, same inflection. When I didn't let up, he started to provide too many details. Fabrications to fill gaps, if I had to guess. Now, what could rewrite a Strontian's mind... I can't even guess. The sheer amount of power that would take..." She trailed off, shrugging uneasily. "You needed to know."

"You're right," Steve said heavily. He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, resting one hand against the window as he gazed down at the boy. "Can _any_ of the telepaths here tell us for sure?" They had to see if they couldn't figure this out, or at least rule out some of the more worrying possibilities. 

"Possibly Emma Frost. Maybe one of our Phoenix hosts, but letting them near him may not be the best of ideas," Kitty pointed out with no humor at all. "But if I'm right... Gladiator's son makes a very good hostage, doesn't he?"

That had been Steve's next thought. "Bring him along on the dangerous mission, against his will or otherwise, and you've ensured his father's support," he muttered. "I know the Imperium's not been what you'd call stable for years, but the last intel we got from our SWORD agents in place didn't suggest there was anything approaching that level of internal dissent in their military. But then, if the problem is with the Imperial Guard they probably _wouldn't_ have seen anything." There were certain circles to which even the best-placed agents were not admitted.

"This raises the question of whether you should be handing him back to whoever's in charge up there in lunar orbit," Kitty pointed out, and Steve winced. 

"We can't justify holding onto him," he said. "If they do agree to a trade... has he said anything about whether or not he _wants_ to go back?" Because if Kubark asked for asylum, if he was afraid for his safety... well, this situation was going to get even more complicated, if that was the case. He'd have to grant it and try to deal with the consequences, as bad as they might be. 

"Yes," Kitty said, almost unwillingly. "He wants to go home. He's said that a couple of times, and I don't see anything suspicious about his responses there." She cracked a very slight smile. "Kubark's not a big fan of Earth. He liked some of his classmates back at the school, but to him we're a backwater planet full of primitives."

It was at least a little reassuring, and Steve nodded. "We'll just have to be careful," he said firmly. This could be managed. It would have to be done carefully, but it could be done. "Shi'ar are more easily read by telepaths. We've got more than a few of them on hand at the moment. If we wind up handing him over sometime in the next couple of days, we can at least make sure it's to people loyal to his father."

"I know that's probably all you can do, realistically," Kitty said, although she looked unhappy. "I'll keep talking to him. Maybe I can shake something loose."

"And I'll talk to Ms. Frost about whether or not she can verify your suspicions. Thank you," Steve said seriously, his eyes locked on hers. "For coming to me with this. I know you had your doubts about us holding him."

"Oh, I still do," Kitty said with a faint smile, "but I'm a realist. You make the best of a bad situation; you don't kick and scream and roll around on the floor expecting it to improve just because you're having a tantrum. And you've done what you can for him, I know. I do appreciate that, Commander, even if I have made myself a nuisance these last few days."

"Honestly, Kitty," Steve said with a brief, subdued grin, "the last few days have only made me regret that you opted for a teaching career. I could really have used you around here."

She actually laughed softly as she turned towards the door. "You couldn't afford me these days."

* * *

His quarters were silent around him as he stared out at the Blue Area. The ruins were desolate and empty to the eye, but full of a thousand ghosts to his telepathic senses. He could almost see them, echoes of battles gone by. Some were all too familiar. Part of him thought he saw her out there watching him, her red hair flickering with flames...

But no, the telepathic cloak was intact, he reassured himself. The hosts were blinded, and the firebird itself was still kiloparsecs away. There was no way the Phoenix would see him. It was a fancy only, born of the memories this place evoked.

The Praetor turned away from the window, studying the spartan confines of the chamber as a way of composing his wandering thoughts. There were no distractions here. Only when he stepped outside his room. When he went down to the detention level.

#Perhaps it was a mistake to take him.# He turned sharply, eyes narrowing at the sight of the face reflected in the glass. Its features were obscured behind dark armor sculpted in avian lines, his eyes invisible behind a glowing red visor. Still, he read disapproval in the way it tilted its head at him. #You're troubled by his presence.#

#He's made things more complicated,# the Praetor sent back dryly. #You might notice that this ship is still non-operational.# It still amazed him, how close Scott had come to killing all of them. Intentionally so, he suspected; a father protecting his children was prone to extreme steps, especially when he perceived his previous history as a father to be one of failure. 

_You know something about that!_ a distant, desperate voice accused him. He silenced it. He'd grown quite accomplished at silencing it. There were roads down which his mind no longer needed to go. 

#Perhaps you should kill him now. The Summers genome must be eradicated, root and branch. You have accepted this.#

#No, we keep him alive for now,# the Praetor shot back immediately. #He's still useful to us.#

#Not if he make you doubt yourself. Not if he makes you doubt _us_. Never forget-# The voice in his mind grew more menacing as the red glow pulsed, #-you offered yourself to us willingly. You wanted access to the Datasong, to understand the Great Purpose.#

#I did.# He couldn't deny that. There were many wrongs he wanted to right. So many mistakes made in his life, and it had seemed like the damage done to the Shi'ar Imperium was one of the worst. The coup, Vulcan's ascension, the war with the Kree... he was to blame for it all, ultimately. He had failed to stop Cassandra Nova, and the Mummudrai had put that whole chain of events into motion.

When he had learned about the Fraternity of Raptors, their millennia-long history as protectors of the Shi'ar and their access to the Datasong, he had thought his powers would allow him to open his mind safely to this storehouse of knowledge, to use it to help Lilandra's people. In her memory. 

He hadn't expected it to change everything. 

Part of him knew that they had been responsible for Lilandra's death. A Raptor had killed her. He _should_ hate them for it, but the answers were all there in the Datasong, in the ebb and flow of historical variables. The painful truth that she would have fallen in mere weeks was there, and he knew that the Aerie itself would likely have followed. Millions, potentially billions of dead. 

They had helped him see that he needed to put his grief aside. He had lost himself in the Datasong, let it burn its way into his mind until he could share its cold, calm certainty. The universe was an equation with many parts. One didn't _need_ to be distracted by emotion, good or bad. 

#You are yourself,# the voice pointed out. #You control your body, your mind. We could have replaced you with one of us-#

#Are you so sure of that?# the Praetor asked, the thought cold and his mental defenses thickening, strengthening automatically. He wore no amulet, and would not. Others had sacrificed themselves, traded places with a Raptor to allow the members of the Fraternity to work freely in this dimension. His guilt didn't go that deeply.

#Over time, yes. Your telepathy makes you uniquely useful to us. It does not make you invulnerable to us. Surely you realized that when you watched our newest brother awaken.#

That voice in the distance moaned, grief and horror in the sound. He shut it out brutally. #You may find out you've bitten off more than you can chew, if you think to digest me,# he sent back harshly. 

#Then give us no reason to do so. Go to the detention level. Exorcise this... residual sympathy.# The voice grew more coaxing as it went on. #We have no wish to take you, Xavier. You are far too valuable to us as you are. One of us could not disguise his presence from the Phoenix, let alone his purpose.#

The Praetor moved away from the window, heading for the long table by the door and the object laid out there. Simply turning away from the Raptor's imagined reflection did not even the conversation, of course. His telepathic link to the Null Void was with him permanently now. There was no changing that - or was there? he wondered, his eyes narrowing as he mulled over the conversation so far. 

#Do you want that?#

#I'd like to know if I have that option,# the Praetor responded, tugging the cloth away from the object on the table. Ensuring it had taken no damage had been one of the first things he had done after the crash. 

#Very well. If you complete this mission - if you help us kill the Phoenix - we will free you. You will have saved both your world and the Imperium, and you may go your own way. If you choose.#

He ran a hand down the length of the massive blade, remembering the look on the face of Korvus Rook'shir as he had informed the dying man of just what he planned to do with the blade that had once channeled the Phoenix force. The awakened Raptors had done the necessary work to see the blade's full potential realized. It would do the job.

#I have your word? I'll know if you lie. You don't plan to take me as a host when you no longer need my telepathy?# Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Tree. Despite the speed at which the Fraternity's influence in the Imperium had expanded, there were still countless Raptors asleep in the Null Void. They waited for hosts, willing or unwilling beings who would don a Raptor amulet and trade places with them. 

The hosts didn't suffer in their crystal prisons, he knew. They didn't feel or see much of anything. Oblivion was not something he desired. 

#You have the word of the Fraternity of Raptors, Charles Xavier. A gift is repaid by a service. When the equation is balanced, the demands of the Great Purpose are met.#

#Then I _will_ finish this.# He covered the sword again. Its time would come. He no longer searched the Datasong for kinder alternatives. 

The Phoenix was what it was, uncompromising in its very wildness. There would be no reasoning with it. No arguing that Wanda had done them all a kindness, that 'no more mutants' had been a blessing.

#You will save your planet, Xavier. Kill the hosts, shatter the firebird, and there will be no need for Earth to be destroyed. The Imperium will allow it to go its own way. Remove the threat and save everyone.#

#Yes.# The Datasong poured through his mind, and the doubts melted away.

* * *

Coming back to the school for the night had seemed like the best idea. There was no need for him in New York right now, and there were enough people hanging around Avengers Tower as it was. After the news from Chandilar had arrived telling them that the trade was a go, Richards and Stark had thrown themselves into finishing the ship that would take a team to the moon with Kubark. Logan had never been the mechanical type, and he'd figured they didn't need him in the way. 

Heading over to Frost's place hadn't been an option, either. Ororo had been absolutely blunt on that score. _Most of us would welcome you gladly,_ she had pointed out with a sigh, _but we cannot afford to have Nathan lose control. He knows about the agreement you made with Hope, and he seems... dangerously volatile on the subject._

She hadn't actually needed to add that last bit, Logan reflected dourly, taking a long swig of his beer as he stared out at the grounds. It was sort of a given. If Cable hadn't been dead at the time, Logan wouldn't have said a word about his fears to Hope. Oh, he would have done what needed doing if the time came (and it might yet come, he reminded himself grimly), but Cable knowing about it just made things harder all around. _In his place I'd want to kill me, too._

Better that he kept his distance. It wasn't just Hope he worried about now. Three Phoenix hosts, and any of them had the potential to go over the edge. He'd be damned if he gave any of them a push. 

He heard the door open behind him, and wasn't too surprised to pick up Hank's scent coming from behind him. There was a scraping noise that turned out to be Hank dragging one of the better-reinforced patio chairs over to where Logan was sitting.

"Thought you were in your lab," Logan observed, seeing that Hank was carrying a beer as well. He was a little surprised Hank wasn't at the SHIELD landing field helping Richards and Stark, but then, according to Paige he'd been down in the lab for nearly twenty-four hours straight. Something had clearly snared his attention. Logan wondered if he wanted to know what.

"I was. Now I am not," Hank said, a hint of dryness in his tone as he lowered himself into the chair. A soft breeze rippled through the trees, and Hank closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"

"Mmm. Too quiet, if you ask me. Makes me wonder what kind of trouble the kids are getting up to inside." Still, as long as nothing blew up, Logan was content to leave them to it. "So. What were you doing in your lab that Paige wanted me to send in a rescue party?"

"Running the numbers. Reviewing old data," Hank said vaguely, popping the cap off his beer. "Wondering if you knew."

_That_ had sounded much less vague. "Knew what?" Logan asked, although he suspected he knew the answer. 

"Why the Phoenix manifested, of course."

Logan looked away, back out at the grass and the trees. He let a long moment pass before he answered. "I knew why Scott thought it was here."

He heard Hank make a monosyllabic noise, like a thoughtful hum. "He told you before the Shi'ar took him, I'm assuming." Logan nodded, taking a swig of his beer, and Hank went on almost conversationally. "Well. Yesterday I heard it from the proverbial horse's mouth. I went to Emma's penthouse, and had the chance to talk to Hope. Only it wasn't just Hope I was speaking to, Logan. Not quite. I'm fairly sure it was in fact Jean who delivered the most potent of the verbal buffets I endured in that conversation."

Logan stiffened slightly in his chair. "That's... not actually hard to believe," he said grudgingly. "When Scott showed up here, he told me it was Jean who convinced him to come. Apparently Hope manifesting knocked him for a loop, and while he was out, he saw her. Jean. He said she told him to get his head out of his ass and come talk to me."

He looked back at Hank finally, and noticed that his friend's eyes were suspiciously bright behind his glasses. 

"So we have our dear friend's ghost attempting to direct matters," Hank said softly. "As if the situation wasn't complex enough."

Logan didn't bother suppressing the weary snort. "You tell Steve about what you found out?" he asked, more pointedly. 

Hank gave him a long, steady look. "No, I did not," he said, very precisely. "Not yet. Given that this was the first I heard of it, I am assuming you refrained from sharing that information with our dear Captain as well. Although," he said, a hint of a growl in his tone now, "I'm unclear as to why you wouldn't have shared it with _me_."

"I wasn't sure how you'd react," Logan said bluntly , although inwardly he squirmed a little at the way Hank was staring him down. Scott _had_ said he'd come to tell both of them about the Phoenix. "You've been mum on the subject of M-Day for a while now, Hank." 

They'd talked - but only once - about the research Hank had done, how far Hank had gone to try and undo Wanda's spell. The compromises he'd made. Logan knew it was a sore spot, to put it mildly.

"Well, I didn't react very well when Hope told me, I'm ashamed to say," Hank said, his ears drooping a little. "I'm afraid I made her quite annoyed with me. She actually just... ignored me, which was more than a little disturbing. It troubles me to think I may have passed up the opportunity to... well, I'm not certain how much assistance I could actually provide. But she _did_ make a point of telling me, so she must have had a compelling reason to share that information when she did. I believe that once our jaunt to the moon is successfully completed, I'll go back and apologize."

Logan was frowning. "What the hell did you say to her?" he asked, honestly bewildered. 

"I... may have told her that I didn't believe she should try and undo Wanda's spell."

"McCoy, for fuck's sake!" Logan stared at him in disbelief. Of all the reactions he might have expected from _this_ man to _that_ news, that one hadn't even made the list. "We get thrown a lifeline, and you tell her to toss it back?"

"I _know_." Hank rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, sighing, and then took a sip of his beer before he continued. "It was foolish, but it was... a gut reaction, Logan. You haven't been around any of them yet. You don't understand. It's not like it was with Jean, or with Rachel the first time. They're... overpowering. It's like being a deer in the headlights. And Hope was quite unmerciful in assessing the flaws in my perspective. Correct," he said softly, almost ruefully, "but quite unmerciful."

"In other words, she rattled you but good." The day-long disappearing act was starting to make sense. A strategic retreat to hash things out in his head was perfectly in character for Hank. Logan was frowning, though, as he mulled over Hank's words. "Overpowering," he said, a little bleakly. "That a nice way to say they scare the crap out of you?"

"Oh," Hank said with a humorless smile, "I think that goes without saying. This is not like any Phoenix manifestation we have ever seen before, even apart from the multiple hosts. The Phoenix is always... spectacular, but it's like you can feel the fabric of reality fraying around them. It's terrifying. I don't feel any need to mince words on that. Oddly, Hope seems to be handling it the best of any of them. Nathan and Rachel are struggling. Hope said something about them not having a target. There's something more significant to that," he murmured pensively. "There must be a reason why the Phoenix manifests differently in the three of them."

"If Hope's meant to undo M-Day, maybe Rachel and Cable are meant to keep her alive while she does it," Logan pointed out. Hank did make things stupidly complicated at times. "Could be that simple." 

It bothered him to hear that Cable and Rachel were having trouble already, though. Especially Rachel. She'd been a Phoenix host for years. He'd thought they would have _less_ to worry about when it came to her. 

"I suppose it could." Hank took another sip of his beer, then went on more briskly. "With regards to the Phoenix and M-Day, now. As I said, I've spent the last day in the lab reviewing my old research and examining some new theories based on the test results we did manage to complete before our Phoenix hosts stopped cooperating. I finally came to the conclusion that none of it means a damned thing."

"... all right," Logan muttered, a little dubiously. "That a good conclusion or a bad conclusion, Hank?"

"A necessary one, my friend. The simple fact is, the Phoenix will do what the Phoenix chooses to do. There's precisely nothing any of us can do to stop it. And I don't _want_ to stop it." There was something almost defiant in Hank's scent, suddenly. "Not when I'm honest with myself. I looked at so many options when I tried to find a solution, Logan. So very many, and some of them were truly hideous. But I never once factored in the possibility that the Phoenix force might intervene - and I _should_ have. I think I... gave in to fear, when Hope told me. Creation and destruction are simply opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to our occasionally-friendly cosmic firebird."

"Everyone's going to be afraid," Logan said bluntly, brushing away the philosophical crap. "It's why I didn't tell Steve or anyone else back at the Tower. I trust him. I trust the Avengers. I just don't trust the decisions the damned government might make when they find out about this."

"You're forgetting something," Hank said, almost gently. "They _will_ find out. That's the problem with keeping this to ourselves. If we survive the Shi'ar, if Hope manages to accomplish this... miracle, _everyone will know_. No one's going to fail to notice the repowering of mutantkind, old friend. That's not even taking into account that there are likely a great many young mutants-to-be out there who would manifest immediately once the X-gene is no longer being suppressed. It could be quite devastatingly chaotic."

Logan blinked at him, then growled a curse under his breath. Hank did have a way of painting pictures with words. "You think we need to come clean," he muttered.

"I think we need to speak to our teammates from Utopia and help them see the wisdom of doing so, yes," Hank said firmly. "Things have changed. I can see why they would have guarded that secret when this first started, but the government that might have leapt to hand Hope over to the Shi'ar if they knew she was planning to repower mutantkind will burn their figurative hands if they try to touch her now. Right now, we can't afford to keep secrets from each other, not if we're to fight our way through this. The Avengers need to know."

"Agreed," Logan said after a moment.

"But this goes beyond the immediate needs of strategy – it has to," Hank pointed out more quietly. "This can be managed, Logan, but we _do_ have to look at the long view. If undoing M-Day is possible, the aftermath is as important as the deed itself. After all, it does little good to restore mutantkind if doing so enflames anti-mutant sentiment to the point where we have new Sentinel programs and concentration camps cropping up everywhere we look."

"That'll happen anyway," Logan growled. "You're being naive if you think otherwise." Restoring mutantkind wouldn't change the minds of the people who wanted to push them to extinction. It would just make it harder for them to do it.

"I refuse to simply batten down the hatches and wait for the storm," Hank growled. "Don't be foolish. If there's a bomb about to go off, you don't sit back and simply prepare for the explosion, do you? You try and defuse it. You get innocent people under cover, if you can't. And for God's sake, would you remember where we are?" Hank waved a hand around at the school and the grounds. "If we don't believe it's possible to make things better for our people, why did we come back here in the first place? Why not stay on Utopia and fight? Coming back here, restarting the school... it was about reaching out to reclaim the Professor's dream. If mutantkind is going to be restored, it's a _necessity_. We have to begin making preparations," he went on more softly, but just as fiercely. "Otherwise, all the sacrifices we've all made will be nothing. Our story has been about the fight for survival for too long."

Logan looked down, his grip on the beer bottle tightening. "When Scott was here," he mumbled, "he told me that Utopia didn't mean anything in the end. That he'd fucked up where it counted, when it came to saving people."

Hank's scent changed again, shifting to a strange mixture of grief and determination. "We've all made mistakes. All of us. Usually with the very best of intentions." Logan heard him take a deep breath and the chair creak as he straightened. "That's one of the reasons I'm going with the team to the moon, Logan. I want to help bring my friend back home. Once we do, he and I are going to sit down and say a number of things to each other. There may be yelling. There will likely be recriminations. I fully intend there to be apologies, as well. But I think we're past the time when it's safe to leave things unsaid. All of us."

Logan snorted, rubbing at his jaw and then sighing, surrendering to the inevitable. Standing in Hank's way when he got his mind set on something wasn't a winning strategy. Besides, he was probably right. 

"I don't disagree with you," he said. "About needing to get ready. But it's not my sort of thing. I'll back you up with Steve, but it's probably 'Ro and Frost and Kitty - and Scott, when we get him back - who you'll need, more than me. And we've got a hell of a lot of shit to get through before we can afford to spend _too_ much time worrying about the PR angle of it all."

Hank raised his bottle. "To soldiering onward through the fecal matter, then."

"Amen," Logan grunted, clinking his beer against Hank's.

* * *

The SHIELD facility had an observation deck overlooking the launch pad. Rachel wondered if it was usually empty, or whether people were just avoiding it because she was here. The SHIELD personnel were certainly keeping their distance from her and Nathan. They were polite, but more than one of them had been suppressing the urge to flee.

A tiny, unsteady laugh escaped Rachel and she leaned her head against the window, staring out at the ship that would take the combined team of Avengers and X-Men to the moon. It would be ready in an hour or two. Kubark was being transported here now. Psylocke would be going along with the team on the ship to scan the Shi'ar on the other end and ensure that they weren't handing him over to some sort of splinter group of Shi'ar renegades. Although no one really knew if that was what was going on; Frost hadn't been able to scan Kubark, and SHIELD had said 'thank you, but no' when she'd suggested that Rachel or Nathan try. 

Rachel hadn't been there for any of those conversations, of course. But she'd overheard them. She was overhearing everything. 

She'd even listened in on the thoughts of the people who'd listened to Gladiator's message. His very specific message. Scott would be traded for Kubark, but there were no promises beyond that. Teleporting to the moon was forbidden; it had to be a ship. She and Nathan and Hope needed to stay a set distance away from the Blue Area while the trade was happening. Strange that he hadn't barred them entirely, although it could also just be bowing to the inevitable.

Something smelled fishy about this, she thought dimly. _Someone_ had thought that, too. Ororo? It had either been Ororo or Emma. But the memory of what she'd heard when was blurring into one undifferentiated mass as it receded in time, and she simply could not concentrate enough to bring it back into focus. In her mind, the Phoenix's flames were roaring higher and higher, and she felt like ash on the wind, disintegrating...

"Rachel?"

She struggled to focus on that single presence. Vibrant as it was, dear as it was, it was hard when she turned to Kitty to see her friend, rather than a collection of molecules and thought patterns. Too many of the latter were focused on concern for Kubark, and Rachel grimaced in something close to real pain as she fought down anger that could so easily be lethal. Just a boy. He was just a boy, and she was not going to hurt him.

" _Rachel._ Are you all right?" Kitty's soft brown eyes narrowed in a squint as she drew near, raising a hand the way you would against the sun. "You're giving off an awful lot of light."

She was a shell the light was shining through, Rachel wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, she forced herself to smile. "I'm okay," she said, and her voice actually came out sounding like her own, if strained and faint. "Eager to... get this over with and get my dad back."

Kitty smiled a bit uncertainly. "You... look like you did when you went back into the timestream to save Brian," she said, sounding subdued. "Please tell me you and Nathan aren't planning anything drastic today?"

A cracked laugh slipped out. " _Since when did we plan any of this?_ " Rachel asked, and this time her voice _wasn't_ her own. She sucked in a sharp breath and slid down the window until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest. The fire swirled around her like mercury, and she wondered why she felt like she wanted to cry. The Phoenix didn't weep. And she was the child of the Phoenix, the Starchilde as the Shi'ar called her. 

She should be doing a much better job of keeping it together than this.

"I'm tired," she said in her own voice again. She knew it was hers because of the way that it cracked. "I'm just so tired, Kitty..."

Kitty stayed where she was for a moment. Then, slowly but determinedly, she moved towards Rachel, easing herself down to a sitting position beside her. She reached out and took Rachel's hand in hers, ignoring the flames. 

"If you can't do this," she said softly, "you need to tell someone. Ororo, or Hank. They'll understand."

"I have to do this. I have to do this while I still can." Rachel blinked rapidly, sucking in a shaky breath. "There's only so long you can burn a candle, Kitty." She flinched as her friend shifted closer, reaching out to enfold her in a tight hug. 

"You listen to me," Kitty whispered in her ear, more fiercely. "You come back. Not just from the moon. I still have a bone to pick with you about spying on us for your father, and I am not passing up the opportunity to shake my fist at you for that."

Rachel laughed. It was that or cry, and she thought tears of fire would probably be alarming. More alarming. "How'd you know?" she choked out.

"I am a genius, remember? I eventually put it together. But I forgive you. It's the Summers DNA. Hard-headed and stubborn; none of you can help it." Kitty leaned back, but only far enough to kiss her on the cheek. "I'm not going to lose you again. Promise me I'm not."

Holding on to Kitty, she felt human again. Maybe there was a way back after all. "I promise," Rachel whispered, and tried to tell herself that when your thoughts shaped the universe, you could make promises like that.

* * *

"Sir?"

Nathan blinked, disoriented by the sudden quiet voice coming from somewhere so close. He'd been somewhere else, watching Hope pace restlessly across the balcony of Emma's penthouse and trying to figure out what she wasn't telling him. She wasn't upset about him going into space, he thought; she wanted Scott back as much as he did. But there _was_ was something...

Except he wasn't at the penthouse. He was at SHIELD's launch facility, he reminded himself, and focused on the here and now as he turned to Sam. "You haven't called me that in a long time," Nathan pointed out with a slight, quizzical smile. The sea of fire at the back of his mind was agitated, the Phoenix pushing, but he did feel more or less... centered. It helped to have something to focus on. Two somethings. Hope and Scott. 

Sam gave him a crooked smile of his own, tugging at the jacket of his uniform as he came over to join him where he sat. Nathan had no clear memory of finding this bench, but as he oriented himself, he knew he knew he was where he needed to be. Emma was... _there_ , approaching at a leisurely rate, and the young Shi'ar prince was _there_. 

Sam was an unexpected guest. But he had time. 

"Maybe I'm feeling nostalgic for the old days," Sam said, settling down beside him. There was a hint of something pensive in his voice as he continued. It was like the tip of the iceberg, the outward reflection of a... moroseness that Nathan didn't quite understand, even as he studied Sam carefully. "Seems like things were a lot less complicated back then," Sam offered with a weak smile. 

"No, Samuel. You were just young and green enough to not notice some of the complications, and energetic enough to outrun the others," Nathan murmured, and looked deeper. There was so much there, such a tangle of memories underlying the sadness. 

Sam's family and his teammates, old and new. Lost loved ones, broken relationships. His brother. Tabitha and Jimmy and Dom. So many others. So much uncertainty, so many battles fought and injuries taken, so much _suffering_... 

He felt a sudden flood of affection and protectiveness towards the younger man. It was as if all the years that separated him from the time with X-Force, from the days when he'd looked at Sam as almost a son, had vanished, wiped away in a different sort of perspective shift. As if 'then' was suddenly as strong, as potent as 'now'. If he concentrated, he could be back at Camp Verde, with all of them. 

Fire didn't always have to burn. It could warm, too. Nathan reached out and laid his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing gently. One night, he thought. One perfect memory.

It had been perfectly clear that night at Camp Verde. He and Sam had built a fire and sat out together to watch the moon rise and set. Not arguing, not even talking. Just _being_. And the stars had gone on forever. 

Nathan looked up at them and smiled. He could feel the heat of the flames on his face, hear the wood crackle. Even smell it. _#Do you remember this, Sam? I do. I always will.#_

He could feel Sam's wonder. It made him smile.

Hours passed in moments, and Nathan finally released the memory, brought them back to the here and now. Sam opened his eyes and smiled at him, bright and grateful. 

"You look like you did back then," Sam suddenly said, sounding quizzical. His smile didn't fade, though. "Anyone mentioned that to you?"

"Hope's doing," Nathan confessed, and more warmth crept into his voice at even the mention of her name. The flames around him were warm gold, sparks flying and shining in the air around them. Sam watched them, his smile full of wonder again. "When she saved my life, she gave me back... well, I'm not sure how many years. A lot."

"She's something of a blessing, isn't she?" Sam murmured, his gaze locking back on Nathan's. "I'll be there, Nathan. That's what I wanted to tell you. If it comes to needing to protect her, while she does what she's meant to do. I'll be right there."

"I know you will, Sam," Nathan murmured, and for a moment, couldn't identify the emotion that swept through him, so strong it was dizzying. Joy? Joy, he thought. Mixed with sadness, thinking of Dom and Jimmy and Tabitha, but mostly joy. The Shi'ar had tried to break them, but some things couldn't be broken. 

"I'll go check in with the others," Sam said, rising. "Didn't meant to interrupt your meditating, or whatever that was..."

"Something like that." _#Thank you, Sam,#_ Nathan added softly, with as delicate a mental touch as he could manage.

The younger man blinked, eyes crossing briefly. "... that's quite something. Kind of like thunder, but still you." 

"It's still me, Sam." He could say that much. Rachel drew his attention as she struggled to focus again, and he reached out to her as well, trying to help steady her. 

When he was able to focus on his surroundings again, Sam was gone, and Emma was standing in front of him, raising an eyebrow. "Are we ready?" she murmured. "Our window is closing."

Still himself, yes. Losing chunks of time, also yes. "Ready," Nathan said and rose, letting himself sink into that sea of fire. The Phoenix flooded through him eagerly, and he caught his breath. Emma reached out and took his hand, squeezing tightly, and he nodded in gratitude for the anchor. " _You've got the guards?_ " he asked, hearing that unearthly resonance in his voice again. 

"I do. Nemesis is ready, too," Emma said crisply. "Let's get this done before someone notices."

Nathan took a deep breath - and bodyslid them down one floor to the holding area. Kubark and his security detail had arrived five minutes ago. Between him and Emma and Nemesis, they had calculated this all very carefully. Not unexpectedly, there were still four SHIELD agents right there, but none of them had even an instant to react. They froze, going blank-eyed. 

#There,# Emma sent. Nathan couldn't help a glance at the security cameras, and Emma sent a quick reassurance. #It's fine. They're looped, and I'm keeping anyone in the security office from noticing.#

Which meant he needed to do what he'd come here to do. Nathan stepped towards the forcefield blocking the open door of the holding area, raising a hand as the young Shi'ar prince scrambled to his feet. " _I'm not here to hurt you,_ " he said soothingly. " _I swear it._ "

Young male pride kicked in, of course. "You think I'm _afraid_ of you?" Kubark said with an unsteady snort. "Let me out of here and we'll see just how-"

_#Hush.#_ Nathan took a deep breath and drew heavily on the Phoenix's power, until it flowed through him like the blood through his veins. Only when he was all but bursting with it did he reach out, using it to slide around the countless natural defenses of a Strontian mind. It was like a labyrinth, like several labyrinths layered on top of each other, and it was easy to see why most telepaths wouldn't be able to make a dent in these defenses. 

He could have burned them all away, but that wasn't the point. He really didn't want to hurt Kubark, that passing impulse when the boy had first been captured aside. 

But he did want a back-up plan.

_#You want to get home to your father, right?#_ Kubark nodded, glassy-eyed. _#I want my father to get home safely to me. So we have something in common, you see. If everything goes as planned, you won't remember this conversation and nothing will come of it. But if your people betray us, you're going to help me. You'll still be safe. You just need to do one small thing...#_ He didn't speak the rest aloud, but implanted it, a telepathic imperative that would trigger and then vanish once the required actions were complete. 

Emma's instructions when she'd showed him how to do this had been very precise. She'd promised that Kubark would be none the worse for it. Very different from whatever this other psi had done to him, Nathan thought with a frown as he saw altered memories, remodeled behavioral patterns. There wasn't enough of a residual presence to tell him anything about who had done it. At least, nothing he could pick up on without spending much more time in the boy's mind. 

Time he didn't have. He withdrew, reaching out for Emma's hand as she extended it, and in a flash of light they were back where they'd started. 

#Done?# she asked, and he opened his mind to her so that she could see every step of what he'd done. #Hmm. I was hoping you'd see something about who else had been in there.#

_#Just that someone has. Now,#_ he said, eyeing her. Every cell in his body was still... vibrating. Letting go of all that power he'd just embraced was not going to be easy as he'd hoped, but given where he was going in a little while, maybe that wasn't a bad thing. _#You made_ me _a promise?#_

"Yes, dear," Emma said dryly. "I will be heading back to the penthouse promptly to ensure your darling child does not stub a toe while you're gone. You do realize that at this point she's quite capable of looking after herself?"

_#To be honest, that's exactly what I'm worried about.#_

"Don't." The dryness was gone from Emma's voice, and her expression was deadly serious as she stepped towards him. She reached out to lay a hand against his cheek, and he twitched, startled by the sudden physical contact. "Worry about getting yourself back to her. And about bringing your father along for the ride, of course. But you _have_ to make sure you come back. She cannot do this without you, Nathan. You know I'm not the type to say such things carelessly." 

The cold blue eyes hadn't precisely softened, but there was something both gentle and fierce underlying the words. "You keep her grounded," Emma said, more quietly. "She will not lose sight of her humanity as long as she has her father. Just keep that in mind before you do anything reckless up there."

"She does the same for me," Nathan said a little unsteadily. "Grounds me, I mean. I think I'd be in the same shape as Rachel if I didn't have her." It was pure unadulterated truth, and Emma was about the only non-Phoenix host currently on this Earth he'd dare speak it to.

"As you're so fond of saying, 'what is, is'. _Focus_ ," she repeated, almost sternly. "Get Scott, come back. This is a skirmish, nothing more. You need to save your strength for the war."

Nathan thought there was something he could say about famous last words, but he didn't feel like having his ears boxed for being defeatist. "If I didn't already know you were sleeping with my father..."

"Don't be pert."


	18. The Stars Our Destination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope faces the Scarlet Witch, and Steve makes a decision that may change everything. On the moon, as the rescue mission draws nearer, the Praetor readies his ultimate weapon - the Mind Gem.

Steve watched the spacecraft ascend from the launchpad on a pillar of fire, and despite the tension of the moment and all his worries about how this mission was going to go, he let himself take a moment to appreciate the sight. Space travel wasn't something he could be too blasé about, even now. 

From the sound of the reports from the various stations in the launch control room, everything was going well. Reed had been concerned about the amount of weight the ship would be carrying; the experimental spacecraft they'd hurriedly retrofitted had been designed for a crew of four, not eight plus a hostage. But it would have been sheer folly to assume, after everything that had happened, that the Shi'ar didn't have _something_ up their sleeves. A sizeable team had been only sensible. 

He'd wanted Tony and Natasha up there, and Carol had volunteered as back-up. Hank had insisted on going, and Steve hadn't had the heart to tell him no. After Brand's betrayal and the destruction of the Peak, Hank had _needed_ the opportunity to help salvage what they could from the situation. And if they did manage to get Cyclops back, chances were good he might be in need of medical attention. 

When he'd gone to Ororo to fill out the team with X-Men, she had been his first volunteer. He'd asked for a telepath, expecting it to be Emma Frost, only to have Ororo suggest Betsy Braddock instead. Although he supposed that if Ororo was going to the moon, Emma couldn't; he'd seen enough of the Extinction Team's dynamics to realize that. Thankfully, her other two choices had been Alex Summers - not a surprise in the slightest - and Sam Guthrie, who seemed like a steady sort. He'd been worried she'd pick Namor or Magneto. _Then again,_ he thought with a flicker of black humor, _that does leave them down here for me to worry about._

"Isn't that something," he heard the launch director murmur, real wonder in his voice as he watched the two Phoenix firebirds launched themselves into the air after the ship. Steve couldn't disagree. The firebirds looked even bigger today, almost too bright to look at, and they seemed to soar skyward with no visible effort. 

They were staying well-clear of the ship, he saw, watching their progress on the screens. He only hoped they remembered the terms of the exchange and didn't get too close once they were up there. Then again, it was their father's life in the balance. If that wasn't sufficient incentive to keep their heads...

"Keep me updated," he told the launch director. "I'll be at headquarters." He had other preparations to oversee. Even if this exchange was successful, more Shi'ar ships would be coming. They needed a strategy, and there were a number of people in key positions who needed to be made to understand that.

* * *

"Ma'am? Wilkes is going out to get some lunch. Would you like anything?"

Wanda mustered a brief smile for the young SHIELD security officer who was currently hovering (again). He was an interesting mixture of competence and kindness, Agent Graves. The other members of the detail had treated her with courtesy, but he seemed to watch her a little more closely. This wasn't the first time he'd subtly hinted she needed to eat. 

"Something vegetarian?" she suggested, her smile growing a little at how very hard he was trying not to look relieved that she'd answered him. Her long silences had been a matter for some unease on the part of her security detail, she knew. "Maybe soup?"

"We can definitely do that, ma'am," Graves said, smiling back at her and then heading over to confer with Agent Wilkes, who was over by the door donning his coat. 

Probably in an effort to hide his sidearm while he was outside, Wanda thought. Because it _was_ such a beautiful day, perfectly sunny - and warm, according to the weather forecast Wilkes had been watching earlier. She wasn't supposed to leave the apartment, so she couldn't tell for herself. But there was sunlight streaming in through the balcony doors, falling across the chair where she sat, and Wanda closed her eyes and tried not to think. 

Time passed. She wasn't sure how much. But it didn't matter. All she could do right now was wait – and worry. She wasn't sure Steve understood yet, just how... nebulous her sense of things truly was. He kept pressing her, if gently, for more details. More specific advice. He looked so frustrated at what she _was_ able to tell him that she wished she had it to give. But she wasn't about to advise him to make plans based on a situation that had shifted violently several times already. It would be like building a house on sand.

Her eyes snapped open as reality itself seemed to resonate around her, as if a great gong had been struck somewhere in the distance. Something was happening, or about to happen. Something that she couldn't see at _all_ , and Wanda swallowed, wondering faintly why that was, what was different. 

Distant, she thought. It _was_ distant. Was that the reason why she could only sense the ripple, and not the source of the disturbance? She rose from her chair, moving towards the windows and peering upwards at the cloudless sky with a frown. It was like a vast wall, she thought. Somewhere out there. Something to do with this rescue mission? 

"Ma'am?" Graves again, sounding concerned. Wanda glanced back to give him a reassuring smile.

And froze at the sight of the slender, red-haired girl standing behind him. Graves correctly interpreted her reaction, spinning and drawing his weapon in the same moment that he moved to put himself between Wanda and whatever was behind him. 

"Breach!" he shouted. 

"No!" Wanda said sharply, although she wasn't sure who she was talking to, Graves or Hope. Wilkes was gone, but Hardy and Sims came bursting out of the office and the washroom respectively, their own guns drawn. Flames burst into life around Hope, and the three SHIELD agents suddenly found themselves holding nothing at all as their weapons abruptly disintegrated in their hands. 

"I don't want to hurt any of you," the girl said quietly, glowing eyes flickering back and forth between the three agents. "But if you try to interfere, I'll make it so that you can't. You probably won't enjoy that."

Graves made a sudden, desperate leap towards the edge of the kitchen counter, where Wanda knew a panic button had been installed. The apartment had several of them. Hope merely glanced at him and he went flying through the air and against the wall, where he remained pinned. 

"Hope, stop it," Wanda said urgently, stepping between them. "They're here to protect me. They're just trying to do their jobs-"

"You," Hope said, her voice even lower and yet infinitely more tight, "need to not tell me what to do, you _genocidal fucking bitch_."

Wanda's breath caught in her chest at the seething rage just below the surface of the words. Her offhand comment to Steve about what she would have to do when this moment came suddenly seemed so very optimistic. 

"Please," she finally said, her voice shaking. "Please, Hope. Let them be. They're innocent. They're good people-"

The play of emotions across Hope's face was like watching a fire dance in the wind. "They're SHIELD agents," she said softly, almost wonderingly, before that burning gaze snapped back to Wanda. "SHIELD knew. Rogers knew. He's been hiding you from us."

"I came to Steve just before the Phoenix manifested," Wanda said, trying to sound as calm as she could. Behind her, she could hear Graves swearing under his breath, softly but viciously. There was more anger and chagrin than pain in his voice, at least. Hope hadn't hurt him. The situation hadn't gotten out of control – yet. "I didn't know what was about to happen. Just that something was."

"We rattled your cage." Hope gave her a tight, cold little smile that looked far too adult on her young face. "That's what you felt. The Phoenix, getting too close to what you did." Rage replaced the smile and she took a step closer to Wanda, the fire billowing around her, flashing between gold and red. Graves abruptly slid down the wall, and Hardy and Sims staggered back, as if an invisible grip had suddenly been released. 

"Call Captain America," Hope said fiercely. "Call him and tell him to come here. If he hurries, I won't kill her until _after_ he arrives."

* * *

This wasn't quite the worst-case scenario, but Steve wasn't sure acknowledging that helped. After all, it hardly mattered whether it was three Phoenix hosts picking a fight with a reality-warper in the middle of New York, or just one. Either way, the collateral damage would be hideous. _There's no fight yet,_ he told himself, but that wasn't reassuring either. He should have known this was coming. Frost had found out easily enough. He'd been stupid to think he could keep it from the Phoenix hosts indefinitely.

Strange's teleportation spell put them into the lobby of the building, just as he'd requested, and Steve gave him a quick nod of thanks as Agent Hardy came forward to meet them. There were a few stray civilians still on their way out of the building, hurried along by some of the additional agents who'd arrived on scene before Steve had managed to get in touch with Strange and make travel arrangements for himself. News of Hope's arrival had caught him still on his way back from the launch facility. The timing couldn't have been much more awkward.

"Sims and Graves are still up there," Hardy reported, her gaze flickering to Strange for a moment before she focused again on Steve. She was probably wondering why it was just the two of them and not a whole team of Avengers, Steve thought grimly, but refrained from saying anything about throwing kindling on the fire. "Wilkes and some of our reinforcements are going door to door to make sure everyone's out."

"Good job, Hardy," Steve said briefly, and meant it; she'd kept her head well in a difficult situation. It wasn't easy for someone who'd been trained to step in front of bullets (or worse) for their protectee to be told to stand down when an active threat was in the same room, but Hardy hadn't questioned the order. "What's your take on things upstairs?"

Hardy frowned. "The girl's not doing anything," she said cautiously. "She and Maximoff are just sitting there. I mean, the atmosphere's charged, but they're keeping their distance from each other."

"The threat may simply have been strategy," Strange suggested quietly, gazing up at the ceiling as if he could see through the intervening floors to the safehouse above. "Her way of ensuring that she was able to talk to both you and Wanda at the same time, Steven."

"That said," Hardy put in more grimly, "the little redhead's definitely _not_ a fan of our protectee, Commander. Called her genocidal, of all things? With some profanities thrown in for good measure."

Steve repressed a wince – and didn't answer the unspoken question. "We won't know what's happening until we get up there. Hardy, let Sims know we're coming. Then find Wilkes and help him make sure absolutely sure this building's empty." He paused for a moment, then grimaced. "You might want to start evacuating the rest of the block, too. Just in case."

"Yes, sir."

Steve looked back at Strange as Hardy departed. "I want you to be ready," he said, low enough that the words wouldn't carry to any of the agents still in the lobby. "The _moment_ this situation looks like it's going south, I want you to take Wanda out of here and to a safe distance. I don't particularly care what she has to say about it. Separating them may be our safest option." He doubted very much that Hope would level the place once her target was gone. 

Strange gave him an oddly impassive look. "If there's no other way to prevent an explosion, I will," he said, just as quietly, "but not until then." Steve frowned, but Strange went on almost implacably. "There are great forces at work in this situation, Steve. Thwarting them may not be an option. This confrontation was almost certainly inevitable."

Well, that was heartening. "You can tell me the reasoning behind that later," Steve said curtly. "Let's get up there. Straight into the apartment, I think, if you can manage it without having seen the place." The lobby had been a far larger target, after all.

"Easily enough done," Strange said, raising his hands. Glowing symbols formed in the air around him. "Their power signatures work very well as an anchor."

The scene they were presented with upon materializing in the apartment was as outwardly calm as Hardy had described. Graves and Sims were standing watch, the younger agent poised by the door and Sims standing by the windows, still listening to Hardy if the way he was touching his earpiece was any indication. He stiffened at their sudden appearance; Graves actually jumped, one hand going to an empty holster at his side. Steve frowned at that, wondering. 

"Agents? You're dismissed," he said quietly, and waited until they were safely out the door to turn his full attention to Wanda and Hope. Wanda was sitting in the chair by the windows she'd seemed to prefer since he'd brought her to the safehouse, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea and trembling very slightly. Her expression was calm, but as their eyes met, Steve thought that she seemed to be having trouble deciding whether to be worried or relieved to see him. 

Hope was sitting at the edge of the couch, flames flickering around her. She had the flower arrangement that had been on the center of the coffee table in front of her, and Steve's eyes widened slightly as he watched her disintegrate, then recreate a single petal before she moved on to do the same to the next. 

Strange moved past him before he could say another word. "Hello, Hope," he said, taking the chair opposite hers and giving her a long, searching look. He made a small, almost unnoticeable gesture with one hand, a few faint symbols appearing and disappearing like glowing smoke. "Do you find that helps you concentrate?" he asked, inclining his head towards the flower arrangement.

Hope didn't look up. "I'm perfectly in control of myself, Doctor Strange. If that's what you're worried about," she said. 

Her voice didn't sound right, Steve thought; there was a sort of... shimmering echo within the words. Moving a bit cautiously, he came over and took a seat as well. It seemed that they were having a conversation. That was infinitely preferable to a fight, so he was more than willing to go with it.

"So," he said, when the silence dragged on for a moment later. "You asked me to come, Hope. Here I am."

"Here you are. No Logan?" Hope asked, pushing the flowers away and looking up to meet his eyes.

Hers were all but incandescent, and Steve took a deep breath, the sheer force of her presence _pushing_ at him. He was suddenly very glad he was sitting down. The Avengers who'd encountered the Phoenix hosts had warned him, he thought dimly, but their words hadn't done the effect justice. Being around Rachel when she'd been unconscious certainly hadn't been like this. 

"Why would I bring Logan, Hope?" Steve asked, forcing himself to focus on the apparent non sequitur. It took almost a physical effort. 

"To kill me before I can kill her. Isn't protecting her the priority?" Hope started to glow more fiercely, the light around her turning almost painfully bright, and Steve recoiled as he _felt_ her rifling through his memories. His hands went white-knuckled on the arms of his chair. "That's why you hid her away. The Avengers take care of their own."

"Hope, _enough_ ," Steve gritted. The pressure inside his skull abruptly subsided, and he winced at the throbbing pain it left behind. Images flickered through his mind, memories of standing between Wanda and the X-Men, Cyclops's anger battering at him like a physical thing even before that first optic blast had smashed into his shield. "If you're going to look at that particular set of memories," he said, more harshly than he should have, "look at all of it. Look at your teammates and how angry they were that day. Tell me that you would hand over a friend to people who were acting like they wanted to lynch her on the spot."

"Oh, but she _wanted_ to go." Hope shot Wanda a look that was brimming over with hostility. "Didn't you? But they insisted on protecting you anyway."

Wanda swallowed, setting the teacup down. "I did," she said softly. "I wish that my father and Pietro had respected that. It would have prevented what followed-"

"You running back to Doom and making things worse, you mean?" Hope snapped, and Steve tensed in his chair as every piece of furniture in the room rattled softly.

"Cassie Lang's death, is what I mean," Wanda said, her voice still quiet but the words more forceful. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and she blinked rapidly as she went on. "Do I regret losing the opportunity to undo what I did to mutantkind? Of course. Of _course_ I do. But the fact that my choices led to yet another senseless death is what I regret the most about that day."

Hope glared at her. But the light surrounded her abruptly died to the same flickering flames that had been there when Steve and Strange had first teleported in. As if she was conceding the point. Steve breathed out on what wasn't quite a sigh, but the momentary flicker of relief vanished as Hope's gaze locked on him again, that fierce, angry presence pushing at him once more.

"So even if we're setting all that aside," she challenged him, her voice ringing in the quiet apartment, "what exactly makes her so fucking trustworthy? You haven't just been hiding her, you've been running over here to talk to her about what's happening, instead of talking to us! You've been _avoiding_ us, to protect her. Pretty obvious where your priorities are."

Dear God, how he'd mishandled this situation. He couldn't even argue the point. Steve took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "I didn't think it was going to help anything," he finally said slowly, "to risk another incident like the last time." He made himself open his eyes and meet Hope's gaze as levelly as he could. "You and your family and your team have suffered so much in the last couple of weeks. Tempers are raw. The situation's volatile-"

"And you're afraid of what she might do, if one of us attacked her."

But Wanda was shaking her head. "If that's it, Steve, you shouldn't have worried," she said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. "I don't have the power I did. To be honest, the decision I _tried_ to make that day is the same decision I'd make now if the X-Men came for me." She turned her attention back to Hope. " _Have_ you come to kill me, Hope?" she asked, almost diffidently, but Steve could see the subtly increased tension in the way she sat.

"If I thought it would let me do what I have to do, I'd burn you where you sit," was Hope's cold reply. 

Steve opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn't sure. To tell Hope he wasn't going to let her do it, or shout at Strange to get Wanda out _now_. But before he could even begin to form the words, Strange broke the charged silence.

"It won't, child," he said, almost gently. He tilted his head, studying her closely. "But... you knew that before you came, didn't you?"

Hope's gaze shifted to him. After a long moment, she shrugged. "I was pretty sure, yeah. But I wanted a closer look." She glanced back at Wanda, her eyes narrowing. "She's tied into it. Like she's holding the whole thing up, and all its power is flowing through her. Tearing her out of it would only bring the whole thing crashing down."

Strange actually smiled a little, like a teacher might smile at a student who'd given an insightful answer. "Yes. And given that 'the whole thing' is reality itself..."

"I know the problem," Hope muttered, her hair falling forward to obscure her face.

The realization of what they were talking about hit Steve like a punch to the gut. "Her _spell_ ," he breathed, looking back and forth between Hope and Wanda. "That's what this is about. M-Day. That's why..." The X-Men's absolute insistence that the Avengers couldn't interfere with the Phoenix now made perfect sense. 

He struggled to find words for a moment, until he saw the patient way Strange was regarding him. "How long have you known?" Steve asked, his voice rising with disbelief and no small amount of anger. More pieces of the puzzle fell into place as he thought back over the last few weeks, and his jaw dropped. "Wait, did _Reed_ know?" 

"Steve." Wanda's voice was soft, but the mute appeal in her eyes made him close his mouth. "I thought this might be it," she went on just as quietly. "I wasn't sure. I'm not sure I would have told you, even if I had been sure. I think you can probably understand why."

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slowly as he leaned back into the cushions of the chair. "I honestly thought that I would be able to help, you know," he said finally, his voice low and tired. "That I could make things better. Rebuild trust between the government and the superhero community."

"We're not superheroes," Hope pointed out sharply. "We're mutants. I know what you wanted to do, to make the world look at us like they do at the Avengers. I think you were being stupid. Or at least stupidly optimistic." She tilted her head, giving him a faint, angry smile. "Do you know what Scott did with the medal he got? He threw it in the bay."

Steve felt a real pang at that. He'd been more proud of arranging that than he should have been, maybe. But he'd thought it was an important gesture, the President recognizing the X-Men for what they'd done to save San Francisco during the Nimrod attack. So much of what the X-Men had done for the world had gone unnoticed for so many years. He'd let himself think the medal was a way of starting to make up for that.

"It wasn't that it didn't mean anything to him," Hope went on. "It did. I could tell. But he knew it didn't _change_ anything. We were still all but extinct. Five more mutants; that's all we had." She swallowed suddenly, convulsively, and Steve knew she had to be thinking about her friends who'd died on Utopia. "We've lost more than that since then. We're still dying. Dying, and falling apart because of what we've had to do to survive, and you can actually sit there and be angry that we didn't tell you? When you work for people who probably think she did the world a _favor_? Who would have handed me over to the Shi'ar without a second thought if they'd known what I was here to do?"

"... you're right," Steve said quietly. "You're absolutely right." He had no business being angry. Especially when knowing wouldn't have changed the decisions he'd made. He would still have tried to protect her. He would still have tried to make things right, after Brand's betrayal.

"Past is past," Strange said almost soothingly as he leaned forward in his chair, regarding Hope intently but somehow kindly as well. "Perhaps now that this is out in the open, those of us with specialized abilities and a stake in the matter might put our heads together. To figure out how we might assist you in accomplishing your purpose."

"I don't know," Hope said, all her attention still on Steve. "Can we let it be out in the open?" She gave an odd, wintry little smile. "Or is it just open season?"

There was something off about her demeanor, Steve thought dimly, his eyes narrowing against the pounding headache. She didn't sound like herself. She sounded... older, older and more coldly angry. It was more than a little unsettling. But she'd asked him a question, and he owed her an answer.

"Any help the Avengers can give," he said evenly, straightening in his chair, "you'll have. I promise, Hope."

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And what are you going to tell the President of the United States?"

"The truth," Steve said, with no hesitation. "I have to. No," he said more sharply, when she opened her mouth, probably to argue with him, "just... stop for a minute, Hope, and listen to me. What if you manage it? What if you repower mutantkind, all at once? That could be as catastrophic as the Decimation was. We need to be ready, and the only way to do that is to tell the truth. Your people are going to need the help we couldn't give the first time. If we know this is going to happen, we have a chance to do better this time."

The implications were staggering when he stopped to think about them more carefully. Repowering former mutants was one thing, but at least they would have some sense of what to do if their powers were returned. There was no telling how many people who _would_ have been mutants had reached puberty since M-Day. There would be new mutants as well, possibly millions of them at once.

"And what happens when they tell you to stop me?" Hope demanded, the flames billowing up around her. "Because _I_ will stop anyone who tries, I swear-"

" _If_ that happens," Steve said, his voice absolutely level as he met her gaze without flinching, "I will hand the President my resignation and I will lead the Avengers in helping you." He heard Wanda gasp softly, but didn't look away from Hope. 

"Oh my," Strange murmured almost inaudibly, both eyebrows raised.

"... you're serious," Hope said, almost blankly. "I can see it in your mind. You mean it."

"Absolutely." Steve took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I have faith it won't come to that," he went on levelly. "I think I can make the President understand that this can't be looked at just from the standpoint of national security. But if I can't, I'm still going to do the right thing. And if M-Day can be undone, if this _can_ be fixed, then it _should_ be."

"That may be a costly stand," Strange pointed out, but his gaze was warm and approving.

"Stands often are," Steve said more bleakly as he thought about the Superhuman Registration Act and everything that had followed. "So. If you know I'm telling the truth, Hope, will you take my word?"

Hope looked down, frowning. She looked her proper age again, and Steve was oddly relieved at that. "We're going to have to talk to Emma," she said quietly. "And Scott, when they get him back."

"I agree, so long as we add Hank McCoy and Logan to the meeting," Steve said, then cracked a very slight smile. "Logan only if you promise to make sure your father doesn't hurt him." Hope gave a faltering laugh, one hand covering her mouth for a moment. "That said," Steve went on, more carefully, "we all need to keep in mind you won't have the chance to restore mutantkind if we don't deal with the Shi'ar. So we've got two goals here. Just promise me you'll try and trust me if I tell you that one has to take a back seat to the other for a little while. I swear I won't do that unless I have to."

"I promise," Hope said, very softly. "To try."

Steve couldn't help a subdued grin at the qualifier. "Fair enough. Now..." He took another deep breath, trying not to tense. "Are we done here?" _Please say yes,_ he thought, deliberately not looking at Wanda. 

Hope shrugged. "Well, I'm not going to kill her, if that's what you're asking," she said, and looked at Wanda, her voice shaking a little as she went on. "I'll never stop hating you. I hope you know that. I should have been just one more mutant baby. Not anyone special. Certainly not someone worth killing everyone around me. I don't even know if my mother got to hold me before she died."

Wanda's expression crumpled, but Hope went on, not letting up. "I could forgive you, if it was just me. But it isn't. You killed hundreds of people on M-Day. Hundreds more depowered mutants died afterwards when people targeted them, or when they did crazy things to try and get their powers back. All those people died in pain and fear and despair, all because of you."

She stopped, swallowing. The flames around her were changing, almost white-gold now. "But they're gone. They're... at peace, I hope. The living are the ones still suffering. All I have to do is to look at my friends, my _family_ , to see that," Hope said almost brokenly. "Most of them expect to go down fighting. They think they'll die and be forgotten. That the world will be _so_ happy to see the end of mutantkind that nothing we tried to do, nothing we tried to _be_ will matter."

"It matters, Hope," Steve said, aching for the real pain behind the words. He thought of Scott, gray-faced and bleeding out on Utopia and yet still determined to protect the girl he thought could save his race. Of Alex's calm, stark words about the Decimation and what it had done to the X-Men. As much as M-Day had haunted him, he knew his was an outsider's perspective. He would never truly know what it had been like from a mutant's perspective, either the horrors of the Decimation or the despair of the aftermath.

And that, in the end, was probably why they hadn't trusted him with this from the start. 

Hope didn't seem to hear him. "You did that," she told Wanda, her voice low. "I just want to hear you admit that. That you _know_ that you did that. That you were so... _selfish_ that you went to someone you shouldn't have trusted, and let him turn you into something that destroyed the lives of millions of people."

Tears were sliding down Wanda's cheeks as she bowed her head. "I've never denied that," she said faintly. "But I wasn't in my right mind, Hope. And I have regretted it every moment of every day since my memories returned."

"That doesn't matter," Hope said, softly but fiercely, the white flames billowing around her. That eerie, shimmering echo in her voice grew deeper, more noticeable. " _You put the human race in a cage, Wanda,_ " she said, and around them, a latticework of ruby light took shape. Wanda went white, and Strange raised a hand, gesturing rapidly as his eyes darted back and forth as if he was charting what he saw, committing it to memory. 

Steve just watched. Watched and listened, because he suspected that this was probably the most important part of this entire conversation.

" _What do you think 'no more mutants' means, Wanda?_ " Hope asked in that same altered voice. " _That people get to be normal? That they can be happy? **What do you think will happen when the Celestials come back and we're not here?**_ "

* * *

"Praetor? The Earther ship is approaching."

"Thank you," the Praetor said, and closed the channel with the bridge. He crossed the room to the table where the sword lay, placing a hand on the hilt and breathing deeply. Now that the moment was here, he felt curiously numb. He should feel regret about what he was about to do. He should feel _something_.

#Do you really want that, Xavier?# There was no reflection of a Raptor's face this time. Just the voice echoing up from the depths of his mind, through his link to the Null Void. #To feel regret, grief? When you must do what is necessary?#

"Perhaps not," he murmured, closing his eyes. Remembering Scott, the last time he'd gone down to the detention level. _I'll make it quick,_ he had told his former student. _I can promise you that much, Scott. There's no need for Rachel and Nathan to suffer any more than necessary._

He had known they would not allow Hope to make the journey to the moon. They would leave her on Earth to keep her safe, never knowing that they were dooming her by coming to their deaths. The way forward was clear. He would strip the girl of her protectors and then, when the armada arrived, he would come for her himself.

But Scott had stared back at him with no expression at all. _if you lay one finger on either of my children, Charles,_ he'd said, his voice hoarse and weary and yet somehow full of absolute certainty, _I will kill you. That's not a threat. That's what will happen. And I won't hesitate._ There'd been no hesitation in his use of the name, either. No more doubt that the Praetor was who he said he was. 

The Praetor supposed that had been inevitable. He'd spent a great deal of time in Scott's head these last few days, combing through his memories for every scrap of information about Hope he possessed. There had been things that Scott himself hadn't realized that he'd known. After so much close telepathic contact, there was no way Scott could deny the truth now. He had been too familiar with Xavier's mind...

_With_ my _mind!_ the Praetor thought uneasily, not understanding where that thought had come from. He was Charles Xavier. The Praetor was simply a title, a... facade. 

And yet when Scott had defied him, he had lashed out with his powers. Had inflicted pain in retaliation for the... presumptuous familiarity. _You don't understand the Great Purpose._ The words echoed in his mind. His own words, and they felt... flat, emotionless even in memory. _I have become its hand, Scott Summers. I am saving an entire civilization!_

#Xavier.# The voice was almost coaxing now. #It's time.#

"Yes. It is," he murmured. He opened the small, hidden compartment in his armor, and a blue glow lit the darkness of his quarters. 

Carefully, he removed the Mind Gem, holding it in his palm. 

"I can almost pity them," he said. "They're outmatched, and they have no idea."

#No pity! Remember,# the voice said forcefully. #You are doing what is necessary. Even your world's own precognitive predicted this.#

"The Adler woman," the Praetor murmured impassively. It had been strange to see Destiny's diaries in the Datasong, but then, he should have made the connection months ago. " _Earth is her home, the stars her destination. Mothered by war, her father's her salvation. The price of Xavier's dream..._ " The last words of the prophecy seemed to stick in his throat, as if there was some part of him still resisting the truth. 

# _The price of Xavier's dream is the ancient Aerie's fall,_ # the voice finished for him. #One of your own saw that, Xavier. You cannot deny the truth. If the girl restores mutantkind, the Imperium will fall. Countless star systems will be thrown into chaos. The death toll will be staggering. You've seen this in the Datasong; you know it to be true. Look again, if you doubt!#

The Praetor closed his eyes and opened his mind to the river of possible futures. Once more, he saw the critical branch point here on Earth. The Phoenix's fire burned away possible futures, leaving only the potential timelines where mutantkind was renewed, where it helped the rest of humanity reach out into the stars. 

Protecting. Defending. Everything Charles Xavier had once hoped to see.

He sank deeper into the Datasong, farther into the future, and saw the Shi'ar assess humanity as a danger to the galaxy at large. _They are an untrustworthy race!_ a Majestrix cried. _Even as primitives, they did great harm to the Imperium! We must not risk another Mummudrai, or another Vulcan! Look to our history - you know I speak the truth!_ He saw the Council heed her and vote to seal off the Sol system, to contain the threat. 

And he saw humanity united, mutants and baseline humans fighting side by side to break the blockade and claim a destiny out in the galaxy. The war was bloody and protracted, but the Terrans triumphed, and the road led inexorably onwards to a final reckoning on Chandilar, one last battle that the Imperium would lose...

Dreams died, he thought. They withered in the cold light of reality. Sometimes, they had to be burned to ash for the greater good. There was no point in weeping. 

He turned his attention to the Mind Gem, stared into and _through_ it. #Brothers,# he called, and felt the Raptors on the ship, cloaked as Shi'ar crewmen, respond to his summons. #Make yourselves ready. Once the young prince is safely back in our hands, we will spring the trap.#

After all, the goal might be to save the Imperium in the long-term, but in the short-term, the last thing the Shi'ar could afford was another succession crisis.


	19. Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue mission makes it to the moon and find themselves facing their worst nightmare. (Warning: character death ahead.)

It was like stepping into an ice-cold shower and going numb in an instant. Betsy shivered in her seat, but her eyes widened as she realized it wasn't simply a passing sensation, but a telepathic reality. She could still sense the minds of the people here in the ship with her, but everything beyond that had gone dead. 

"There's a problem," she said, her voice low but urgent. "We just flew into some sort of psionic dampening field. I can sense the rest of you, but that's it." Up until a moment again, she'd had no trouble at all sensing Nathan and Rachel, waiting back at the distance the Shi'ar had required and burning on the edges of her awareness like stars themselves. Now, it was like they had simply vanished. 

And she had no idea what was waiting for them in the Blue Area. They might as well be alone in the universe, for all the help her telepathy was at the moment. Bloody hell, she was all but useless now! Betsy's hands clenched into fists in her lap as she tried not to grind her teeth.

"Not encouraging," Stark muttered distractedly from the pilot's seat. He had already started their approach to the lunar surface, the ship banking to the west as he aimed them at the landing coordinates the Shi'ar had provided.

"Yet not surprising, given what Pryde said," Natasha Romanova observed, beating Ororo to the punch, to judge by the way Ororo pressed her lips together, looking briefly vexed. "Is there any way to break through it, Psylocke?" 

"If it's technological," Betsy muttered, wishing she could be more sure, "possibly." Closing her eyes, she concentrated in an effort to analyze the effect. If it was technological, it should feel like white noise. Completely effective against minor psis, but much less so against an alpha-class telepath. It was only a question of concentrating, of turning your projected thoughts into a rapier capable of piercing the static. 

Except that wasn't what she sensed. There was no noise, no static, just _blankness_ everywhere except the cramped confines of the ship's crew compartment. Experimentally, she tried to push at that blankness - and recoiled as it pushed back as if casually swatting a fly. 

Betsy took a deep breath, opening her eyes. "There is a very powerful telepath down there," she said grimly. 

"This 'Praetor', perhaps," Ororo said, just as bleakly. "Waiting for us." Betsy nodded, and a shadow of frustration crossed Ororo's features. "Now I wish I had both you and Emma here. Contact Nathan and Rachel. Perhaps they can penetrate it."

"Ororo, you're not understanding me," Betsy said tightly. "I can't reach them. They're on the other side of this; I can't sense them at all." Ororo's eyes widened, and beside her, Alex cursed under his breath. 

"Whoever this is, he's blocking two Phoenix-powered telepaths? How is that even possible?" He sounded simultaneously shaken and angry, as if this latest turn of events had jarred his control just enough for the simmering anger he'd been nursing for days to catch fire again. Betsy couldn't help but empathize, even as she fought her own gnawing, spreading anxiety at being all but head-blind at the worst possible moment. She knew all too well what it was like to have family caught up in these situations. This one had already cost Alex his grandparents, and there was no way any of them could delude themselves into thinking that the full butcher's bill had yet come due.

"Maybe it's not just one person," Sam suggested, sounding troubled. "Could they have a bunch of telepaths down there? They did expect they might have to fight the Phoenix, and we know the Shi'ar have psis..."

"I don't believe so," Betsy said immediately, shaking her head. "Whatever this is, it's... seamless. It has to be the work of a single mind. A master telepath with _extremely_ high power levels." And yet, there was no trace of a psi-signature. It was as if the power was... utterly neutral. Pure psionic energy.

"So what do we do?" Carol Danvers asked warily. "Abort the exchange?" She glanced towards Kubark. "Don't worry," she went on reassuringly. "If we do, it'd just be temporary."

But Kubark was staring out the window, frowning and paying no attention to her at all. "The warbird," he said, before anyone could ask him what was wrong. "Look at it. It didn't land, it _crashed_."

Alex undid his harness and was out of his chair in a moment, moving with the assurance of someone who'd spent enough time in space to be familiar with how you moved in zero-gravity. Betsy suspected by how quickly he had reacted that he was just thankful for the opportunity to _move_. He reached the window, and swore again as he got a close look at what had drawn Kubark's attention. 

"He's right. There's a two-mile furrow in the ground, and it looks like it took out some of the ruins when it came down."

"No sign of another ship on the sensors, or on the ground," Hank said, alternating his attention between his console and the cockpit window and frowning deeply. "Kubark, you seemed to suggest to Ms. Pryde that your father and the Praetor disagreed over you coming back to Earth. Is it possible that they've had a... falling out?"

Almost too much to hope for, Betsy thought as she prodded again at the blankness, that the Shi'ar might be fighting amongst themselves. But Kubark was already shaking his head. "My father wouldn't do that," the young prince said, his expression sullen and guarded as he looked away from the window. "He knows what's at stake."

The hair on the back of Betsy's neck rose at _that_ statement, and she gave Kubark a long, searching look. They needed to watch him, she reflected. Very carefully, if they were back within the range of whoever had altered his mind. 

"My opinion," Stark said brusquely, "we don't abort. We haven't come this far to go back empty-handed, and with all due respect, Summers, I'm not just talking about your brother. We _need_ to know what's going on."

"You're not going to catch me disagreeing with that, Stark," Alex said, although there was a definite edge to the words. "They've been attacking and murdering my family. I _would_ like to know why."

"I can't guarantee that I'll be any help at all on the surface," Betsy said cautiously, although to be honest, she agreed with both of them. "Someone powerful enough to do this is likely powerful enough to defeat me face-to-face if it comes to a fight."

"You ain't alone," Sam pointed out. "Damned hard for a telepath to concentrate on attacking _and_ defending himself from another telepath if he's got people whaling on him from all sides."

"I must agree," Ororo said, just as calmly. "I am not prepared to turn around, either. If what waits for us is an ambush, the Blue Area has sufficient atmosphere for me to produce enough of a light show to warn Nathan and Rachel that a fight is underway. If the Shi'ar break the agreement first, they can intervene."

"High stakes," Natasha mused, "but convincing logic. Land the ship, Stark."

* * *

The atmosphere in the Blue Area wasn't Earth-normal, but it wasn't like what you'd find aboard a starship or space installation, either. There was a prickling sort of energy to it, product of whatever advanced technology had produced this place a million years ago and kept the artificial atmosphere intact ever since.

It made Alex want to jump out of his skin. Or maybe that was just nerves. Possibly both, he thought grimly. Stark and Hank had landed the ship as close to the coordinates as possible, but it had still taken a full ten minutes to make their way here through the ruins. Alex really didn't like the fact that they were so much closer to the Shi'ar ship than their own. No one was cherishing any illusions; they all knew that the chances of the Shi'ar double-crossing them were high. But being ready for it didn't necessarily mean they could turn back the ambush if it came. 

Kubark was behaving himself, at least. From what he'd heard about the kid's behavior at school, that was something of a minor miracle. Hank was standing with him, talking quietly to him as Romanova watched them from a few steps away. Carol and Sam had found perches in the ruins, to keep an eye on the approaches from above; the Shi'ar weren't late yet, but if they didn't show up pretty soon, they would be. 

"Psylocke doesn't look like she's having much luck," Alex observed quietly to Ororo and Stark. Betsy was crouched down a short distance away, her attention locked on the Shi'ar ship and her expression intent. But she kept shaking her head, in what was either frustration or an attempt to clear it, and he could see the increase in tension in her posture as the minutes went by and she kept trying and failing to pierce the dampening field. 

"She doesn't, does she?" Stark's voice was surprisingly natural-sounding projected through the armor. Alex could even hear the dry edge to his tone as he went on. "So I've been killing time trying to calculate the odds of them _not_ turning on us as soon as they've got Kubark safely in hand. It's not encouraging."

"They will want to get him to a _safe_ distance," Ororo pointed out. Alex reflected that they'd had this conversation back on Earth, the three of them. Then again, what else did you do at times like this but rehash your strategy? "Easier said than done, with the mix of powers and capabilities we have here. If we are fortunate, 'safe' will translate as back inside their ship. In which case..."

"We should have some breathing room," Alex murmured, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the lunar gloom at the hulk of the warbird.

"I still want to know why that ship crashed," Stark said. "I really do. If there's a division among the Shi'ar leadership, we might be able to exploit that-"

"We've got a group approaching," Sam reported over the coms. "Twelve soldiers in armor, one woman in robes. They've got Scott with them."

 _Thank God._ Alex breathed out, fighting back relief so strong it was almost dizzying. Ororo reached out to lay a hand on his arm, squeezing gently, and he nodded at her. So far, so good. 

Still, he was more than a little surprised to see who the woman in robes was, as the Shi'ar party drew closer. "That's Chancellor Araki," he said under his voice to Stark and Ororo. "The new one, I mean." Unexpected, to say the least. She shouldn't be here unless she was acting as Gladiator's direct representative, unless... _fuck, I hope we're not dealing with this Secret Order again!_

"The head of the Shi'ar government is leading this mission?" Ororo said with a frown, but like Alex, she was busy trying to see past Araki and the first pair of soldiers. 

Scott wasn't visible until they were closer, and Alex sucked in a sharp, angry breath at the sight of him. His brother was battered and bruised, moving unsteadily. The soldiers on either side of him looked to be the only thing keeping him upright.

"Kind of hoping they do try something, now," he said through gritted teeth, glad that Rachel and Nathan _weren't_ here. Their control was chancy enough these days. 

Araki stopped a short distance away, looking unutterably relieved at the sight of Kubark. "Your highness," she said with a bow. "You are unharmed?"

"They haven't done anything to me," Kubark said, stepping away from Hank. But he was peering at the soldiers, frowning as if he wasn't finding a face he had expected to see. 

"Good. Then let us make the exchange." Araki turned her attention to Ororo and Stark, but her gaze flickered briefly in Alex's direction, then away. As if she was choosing not to acknowledge his presence. 

_Why? Because I'm on the kill list?_ he wondered, then told himself to focus. Ororo was glancing in Betsy's direction with what could only be described as a significant look, and the telepath rose to her feet, shaking her head once. 

#I don't sense anything out of line,# she sent, including all of them in her answer to Ororo's unspoken question. #I _can_ get a read on all of them, now that they're this close. They're all relieved to see Kubark, and determined to protect him from us if need be.#

 _What about Scott?_ Alex thought, his attention shifting back to his brother. They had him in an inhibitor collar, of course. It was strange and a little unsettling to see Scott without glasses or visor. One eye was swollen shut, and the other didn't seem to be focusing on anything. He hadn't even looked in Alex's direction.

#Out of it. I don't know if they have him drugged, or what's going on. He's not responding to me.#

"Chancellor," Stark said abruptly. "Since we've both clearly come in good faith, prepared to make this exchange, perhaps I can beg your indulgence for a few minutes and ask if there isn't some sort of agreement we could reach to prevent further hostilities."

For a moment, Alex couldn't figure out what Stark thought he was doing. This hadn't been part of the plan. But then he saw the way Betsy was studying Araki, that particular intensity that you only saw in a telepath hard at work. Scanning her, Alex thought, and tried not to grind his teeth at the delay. To be fair, it wasn't likely she'd have the opportunity once the trade was made. 

"The only reason we have not renewed hostilities is that you hold our prince," Araki said quietly, outwardly calm. But Alex imagined he wasn't the only one who noticed her hands going white-knuckled as they gripped her staff. "Once he is returned to us, all will be as it was before. Your world harbors the Phoenix. You have only two choices; surrender the hosts, or perish with them."

#There is something very wrong here,# Betsy said sharply. #I can't get in past her surface-level thoughts. No-# Answering someone's silent question, Alex realized. #-she's not the telepath. Definitely not. But she's being... not shielded, it's not just a shield. It's like seeing a reflection of what I'd expect to see. A false front.#

Covering something else, Alex thought uneasily, leaning towards Ororo. "We've got to do this thing, Storm," he muttered urgently. Scott was right there. They were so close to getting him back...

"Stark," Ororo said, clearly and firmly. "Let us make this exchange. I believe the Chancellor has made herself clear."

"I'm ready to go home and stop listening to primitives telling me what to do," Kubark said, gesturing at Scott. "So let him go already, Araki. You're going to stick to the bargain, right? If you don't and one of these Earthers tries to shoot me in the back, my father will have your head."

"Do not be concerned, Highness," Araki said, nodding at the two soldiers bracketing Scott. "Your safety is our first priority."

The two Shi'ar dragged Scott forward, and Alex moved to follow Hank and Kubark before Ororo could stop him. He'd been supposed to stay back, but like hell was he just going to stand there. 

"Kubark," Hank was saying softly to the young prince, "are you absolutely certain?"

"It's fine, Doctor McCoy," Kubark said, sounding oddly detached. Not at all reassuring, Alex thought uneasily. "They're doing what they said they'd do, so it's fine. And I _do_ want to go home." More emotion there, at least. "My father needs me."

At the precise midpoint between the two groups, the Shi'ar soldiers shoved Scott at him. Alex staggered a little under his brother's weight, but managed to keep him from falling. "Christ, look at you," he muttered, rage kindling as he got a better look at Scott's injuries. "Hank, give me a hand."

Hank took one last look at the soldiers leading Kubark away, then moved to help Alex. "Let me take him," he said gruffly, his eyes worried as he took in Scott's condition. "I can move faster, and we-"

 **#NO!!!#** Betsy suddenly screamed in his mind. #It's not Scott - watch out!#

Hank moved faster than he did, grabbing 'Scott' by the shoulders and flinging him away. In mid-stumble, the image of a beaten and semi-conscious Scott Summers shimmered and vanished, replaced by a figure in darkly glittering armor, face hidden by an avian helmet. Hitting the ground, it raised both hands, twin energy blasts forming around gauntleted hands. 

Hank slammed into Alex, knocking him out of the line of fire, but Alex felt Hank's whole body shudder as one of the blasts hit him. An instant later he was dead weight on top of Alex, pinning him to the ground, and the armored figure was lining up another shot. 

But all Alex really needed was one arm free, and he had it. The plasma blast took the armored figure squarely in the face, and Alex pushed Hank off him, then grabbed his friend by the back of the uniform and started to haul him towards cover. Natasha was abruptly there, helping him, and somehow they managed to get themselves and Hank behind a broken wall without any of them taking any more hits. Stark was laying down cover fire, and a wind had blown up, strong enough to throw debris into the air and create a screen of sorts. Alex swore under his breath as he finally had a chance to look back and saw that each of the Shi'ar soldiers had been replaced by one of the dark-armored figures. One was pulling Araki to cover, and the others were...

Stopping. Encircling the X-Men and Avengers - three of them were airborne, in a standoff with Sam and Carol - but they weren't making any aggressive moves.

"Hank," Alex said, allowing himself time to check Hank's wound. It didn't seem too bad - a glancing hit, maybe - although the burn was nasty. "Come on, buddy. Up and at them."

"What are we dealing with?" Hank mumbled, sitting up slowly. 

"I don't recognize them," Natasha said, shifting to Hank's left to find a good place to shoot from. "But if they're Shi'ar, why disguise themselves?"

A good question, Alex thought, frowning as he got a better look at the armored figures. He fired off another blast to discourage one of the airborne hostiles from getting too close to Sam. There was something familiar about them, something that reminded him of something he'd seen, or heard about... 

"Storm," Alex said over the coms, "now would be a good time for that lightning-flare." They needed back-up, and they needed it _now_. Two Phoenix hosts would tip the balance nicely, and he intended to be right behind his niece and his nephew when it came to tearing that ship apart until they found Scott. 

#I think perhaps we should all talk first,# a voice said in his mind. Not Betsy. But not unfamiliar. 

And Alex stared in absolute disbelief as Charles Xavier stepped into view.

* * *

"Charles," Ororo breathed, stunned as she met that familiar gaze. They had tried so hard to get in contact with him back on Earth. Tried, and met with such persistent failure that both she and Scott had started to wonder if the Shi'ar had managed a small and unnoticeable pre-emptive strike to remove him as a source of aid.

But he was here. Working _with_ the Shi'ar? The implications started to sink in, and words failed her as her mind cried out in denial. He was _part_ of this, of the attacks on Utopia and New York, the murders in Alaska? No, she thought desperately, it simply wasn't possible. This couldn't be Charles. He wouldn't _do_ this. She opened her mouth to tell him that, this thing wearing her teacher's face. 

But she wasn't given the chance. All at once, they were elsewhere, the transition so seamless that she felt nothing, not even a moment's dizziness. One moment she was standing in the Blue Area, looking at something that couldn't be true. 

The next, she was back at the school, the school as it had been years ago. She and Charles stood together down by the lake, at the very edge of the water. Ororo breathed in fresh, sweet air, utterly unlike the dry, crackling atmosphere of the Blue Area. The sand was warm beneath her bare feet, and the blue of the sky and water, the green of the grass and leaves was impossibly vivid. Even the scent of growing things, carried on the soft breeze, was exactly as it should be. 

"I'm sorry," Charles murmured from beside her. "I truly am. I never wished this for any of you." He looked sideways at her, that steady gaze holding her still, as if he'd frozen her in place. "I could explain," he went on, the words flat and impassive, "but it won't make things any better. I wish very much that you hadn't been the one to come, Ororo, but I suppose it was inevitable."

She couldn't move. Couldn't access her powers. As desperately as she tried to call on the winds, the memory – the _illusion_ , stayed whole and complete. 

She was trapped. They were all trapped, she thought desperately. They had walked into a trap, imagining it to be something simple, an ambush that could be thwarted.

"Why, Charles?" Ororo asked faintly, fighting with everything she had. She didn't doubt it was him. The feel of the mind that was holding her in place in this illusion was too familiar. "Why would you do this?" This was not how it would end. She would not permit it to end this way. If she had to distract him until Betsy could find a way to counter-attack, she would. 

"Because I've seen the future," Charles said. "Millions, billions of lives, Ororo. What Hope is planning to do will doom them all. She has to be stopped."

"You're... afraid of another Dark Phoenix?" It was the only thing that made sense. _Betsy!_ Ororo cried out silently, willing her friend to attack now, to do what she had to do.

But Charles simply shook his head, and the illusion stayed perfectly intact around them. "I'm afraid she'll be successful," he said, more softly. "Dreams die, Ororo. It's time to let go. Goodbye."

There was no pain. Just a sudden, all-encompassing numbness, as if her mind was no longer connected to her body. She drifted away on the breeze, thoughts of her team, of the mission, fading away along with everything else. 

And the sun went out.

* * *

" _Christ_ ," Tony blurted out as Ororo froze for only an instant, then crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Her eyes were open, staring sightlessly upwards. Somehow, he knew even before he dropped to his knees beside her that he wouldn't find a pulse. "Charles, what the hell have you done?" he cried, his blood turning to ice at the calm, pitiless way Charles looked at him.

#It's not Charles!# There was shock and rage and grief in Psylocke's mental tone, and a katana of psychic force, blazing bright purple, took shape in her hands as she flung herself at Xavier. Images battered at Tony's mind – horrifying, nightmarish images of a human brain made of light and a swarm of inky black bees consuming it from the inside out. #Something's eaten away at him from the inside, it's just a shell that _thinks_ it's Charles-# 

The projection cut off abruptly as Psylocke reeled backwards, as if she'd run right into a brick wall. The katana dissipated and she crumpled to her knees, blood streaming from her nose and her eyes unfocusing.

"That's enough, Elizabeth," Xavier said. "You're wrong, of course. I am completely in control of myself. And, incidentally, of this entire situation." He gestured to Natasha, Alex, and Hank, frozen like statues behind the cover they'd found when the shooting had started. Above, Sam and Carol hung in midair, the X-Man's blast field shimmering erratically. 

This was bad. He had to put an end to this _now_ , whatever was actually happening. Tony started to raise a hand, fully intending to blast Charles, or whoever the hell this was. But the instant he'd taken to size up the situation might as well have been a full hour. That pitiless gaze shifted back to him, and Tony was just as frozen as his teammates, unable to even twitch, let alone activate any of his suit's weapon systems. 

The presence that clamped down on his mind was overwhelmingly strong, and so very cold. #Stay,# Charles's voice said in his mind. His suit's psionic shielding might as well have been non-existent, for all the good it was doing him right now. 

"Charles," Betsy said, her voice trembling - with pain, Tony realized, futile rage swelling inside him. "If there's... _any_ part of you l-left, any part of you that can still h-hear me..."

"There's not," Xavier said, moving towards her. "But there's someone I need to hear you. Two someones, as a matter of fact." He raised a hand, a hand that held something glowing blue, and Tony's mind went blank with shock. 

_The Mind Gem. Oh God, we're screwed._ Kubark's memory alterations, the telepathic screen that had kept out two Phoenix hosts. It all made perfect sense now, except for the part where Charles had gone insane and was using his Infinity Gem, after they'd all sworn not to. 

And he couldn't even warn Reed and the others. Charles Xavier was leading the Shi'ar against Earth, and the only people who knew it were currently at his mercy. 

"Tell them, Betsy," Xavier said calmly. "Reach out to Rachel and Nathan and tell them what you see. Scream for help. They'll hear you. I'll ensure that they do."

His blast field cut out and Sam suddenly came crashing to the lunar surface, bouncing like a rag doll at the force of his impact with the ground. "Show them Ororo," Xavier went on impassively. "Show them this." One of the armored figures moved to stand over Sam, raising a hand and blasting the defenceless X-Man at point-blank range.

Semi-conscious, just as paralyzed as the rest of them, Sam couldn't raise his blast field, couldn't even try to roll away from the blast. It hit him squarely, and bile rose at the back of Tony's throat as he watched the young man die. 

"Stop," he gritted. "Charles, _stop this_ -"

"God damn you!" Betsy cried out feebly, and Tony heard a snarl from Hank's direction, a strangled curse from Alex. Natasha was dead-silent, and Carol still hung in the air as if she were frozen there. Tony couldn't even raise his head to make sure she was still alive. 

"Oh, I am damned," Xavier said without blinking. "There's no denying that. But at least it's to a purpose. _Tell_ them, Elizabeth," he ordered her, eyes burning coldly as he turned his attention to the other captives. "The sooner they're here, the fewer of you I have to kill."

"Go to h-hell," Betsy spat at him, tears trickling down her face. "I'm... not going to lure them down here for you, I-" Her words trailed off in a scream, her whole body convulsing as the Mind Gem glowed more brightly. 

And Carol fell out of the air, only a few feet away from Sam and just as helpless. "One at a time," Xavier said implacably. "One at a time, until you bring them to me."


	20. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Praetor's trap closes on Nathan and Rachel, as most of the surviving X-Men and Avengers on the moon are taken out of the equation. But the Praetor missed two things: Nathan's ace in the hole, and the fact that the Summers family is constitutionally incapable of giving up without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major character deaths, plural. You've been warned.

Rachel was no longer asking herself how the telepathic cloak could be so seamless, or who could have managed a psionic construct this strong and this perfect. Why and how no longer mattered; she just wanted it down. Anything could be happening down there on the surface of the moon, anything at all. Scott could be dead. They could _all_ be dead.

_And we're floating up here, blind!_ Rachel drew more deeply on the Phoenix, let the fire flood through her until the empty space around her glowed with dancing patterns of light. Energy particles of a thousand different types flowed around her and through her, and she screamed in mingled pain and rage as she turned her attention back to the cloak. Fiery talons reached out, tearing at it in a frenzy. But it regenerated instantly, so fast she couldn't even catch a glimpse of what was happening below.

It only drove her more wild with fury, and she intensified her efforts. #FALL! Damn you, FALL!#

#Rachel! Stop it!# Nathan's voice was like a splash of cold water in the face as he approached at speed. He had been trying to map out the boundaries of the cloak, Rachel remembered, but it felt like they'd had that telepathic conversation hours ago. How long had it been? Minutes? She pushed herself back away from the edge of the cloak, breathing hard.

#Anything?# she asked, forcing herself to focus on the here and now. One moment at a time. But she felt like she was burning inside and out, like she was about to fly apart. It was happening, she was slipping. But she had to fight it, she told herself wildly. Her family was depending on her. What was left of her family. The urge to burst into hysterical laughter was almost irresistible.

#No.# Nathan's presence reached out to steady her, afire with - worry. Frantic worry, and not just for the team incommunicado on the surface. For her, too. The strange thing was that there wasn't even a hint of weariness in his presence, despite the fact that he'd just circumnavigated the moon. #It surrounds the moon completely. No breaks, no weaknesses that I can see. Rachel... I think you need to go back to Earth.#

#I can't,# she sent back unsteadily. She was beginning to think that she quite literally could not, that she wouldn't be able to hold it together for long enough to hit atmosphere. Energy danced around her, calling her back to the stars. Whispering at her to let go, to give herself over. She could still do what she had to do if she would just accept that there was no coming back from it. #Nathan, I can't... I can't concentrate...#

Before he could respond, the telepathic cloak cracked wide open. They both heard Betsy call out to them, her scream so full of rage and despair that it should have shattered the silence of space. She managed to send them only one word.

#RUN!# But there were images beneath the surface of the projected scream, images of dark-armored figures that Rachel recognized immediately - it had been chaos that day on Chandilar, pure bloody chaos, but she would never forget the face of Lilandra's assassin - and then, images that were even worse. Ororo, lying motionless on the ground, eyes open and lifeless. A burned corpse barely recognizable as Sam, and more of the assassins moving to stand over Carol Danvers.

Over _Alex_.

The next scream was hers, as she tore herself out of Nathan's grip and dove towards the Blue Area. Another betrayal, more loved ones murdered. _No more!_ Rachel shrieked again, her thoughts incandescent with fury. No more of her family. She would burn them down to ashes, Shi'ar and assassins alike, and then she _would_ go to Chandilar and put an end to all of this.

As she dove, the firebird around her changed, swelling into immensity. Red bled into rose-gold flames and talons grew longer and more vicious. She surrendered herself to the Phoenix and it surrendered to her. All the power she would need to do what had to be done coursed through her, like liquid fire through her veins. All the Shi'ar would have to do was look up and see their doom coming for them.

No more restraint. No more resisting the inevitable. Just death, the death they so deserved for everything they'd taken away from her.

Somewhere far behind her, she heard Nathan cry out her name. In the same instant, she saw, _sensed_ what the telepathic cloak had hidden. Power like the ocean, blue and endless and so deep that she couldn't see the end of it. She felt the Phoenix recoil in shock within her, but it was too late.

It reached up for her, the mind behind that shining ocean of light, and knocked her out of the sky.

* * *

"What's going on, Araki?" Kubark asked, sounding curiously dispassionate.

It was very unlike him, Araki thought worriedly, although at least he wasn't resisting the Raptors leading the two of them back to the ship. Had the Earthers done something to him? She would have to have the medics _ensure_ he was well, once they were safely back aboard ship and no longer exposed to stray energy blasts.

Xavier had promised this would be far cleaner than it was. Even at this distance, she could still smell burned flesh, still feel the echo in the air of plasma and repulsor blasts. The atmosphere of this place was odd that way. In any case, it did not bode well for his confrontation with the Phoenix hosts. She looked back over her shoulder despite her resolve not to. High above the moon's surface, she could see a light too bright to be a star - too bright, and getting brighter.

"Nothing that need concern you, my prince," she said as firmly as she could. "The Praetor will see to the Phoenix hosts. All is going according to plan. The Earthers fell right into our ambush."

"Oh." Kubark moved steadily towards the ship, a strangely pensive frown on his features. It made him look like his father, Araki thought, unnerved. Was this some attempt to put on a show of maturity? She could hardly disapprove of that. "I guess that makes sense. What about Cyclops? Is he dead?"

Araki glanced back one more time, and promptly wished that she hadn't. "No," she said distractedly. "The Praetor thought it best to keep him alive until we no longer needed him as bait. He's safely restrained on the detention level," she thought to reassure him, knowing he would hear stories of the warbird's crash from the crew. "There's no need to worry-"

The sky caught fire from horizon to horizon, burning a baleful crimson. Araki shuddered in horror. "We must get to cover, my prince!" she said more urgently, and turned to one of the Raptors, to command it to pick her up so that they might fly more quickly back to the safety of the ship together.

But the words died on her lips as Kubark spun, his fist smashing through one Raptor's faceplate and shattering the skull beneath. The Raptor dropped, thrashing in its death throes, and its comrade had no time to react as Kubark turned on it in a blur, a flurry of blows hammering it to the ground. The snap of its neck was audible.

"My prince!" Araki cried out, completely bewildered as Kubark went airborne and shot back towards the ship at near-ballistic speed. Swearing under her breath, she picked up her robes and ran after him as quickly as she could, leaving the Raptors where they had fallen.

* * *

Alex had been unable to move, his limbs numb and lifeless and his powers completely inaccessible as two of the dark-armored figures had dragged him out from cover and thrown him to the ground where Betsy could watch him die. He'd seen the look on her face, the exact moment when she'd finally snapped. Certainly, he and everyone else in the vicinity had heard her telepathic scream as she'd told Nathan and Rachel to run.

He would have done the same thing in her place. _Exactly_ the same thing.

Charles, or whatever he had become, flicked the hand that held the glowing blue gem at Betsy. Her head snapped backwards and she crumpled without a sound. Alex heard a desperate, enraged snarl from Hank's direction. Betsy was still breathing, he could see it, but God only knew what Charles had just done to her mind.

The sky caught fire, burning an angry, ominous crimson from horizon to horizon, as if a great fiery dome had just descended over the Blue Area. The numbness started to ease, and Alex was able to lift his head and look up. What he saw didn't surprise him. Nathan and Rachel were doing the exact opposite of what Betsy had told them to do. Of course.

"I'm sorry," he heard Charles murmur as he raised the glowing gem.

And he felt it, almost _saw_ it, like a giant hand shimmering on the edge of visibility. It reached up into the sky and knocked Rachel's firebird out of the air as if it was swatting a fly. 

"NO!" Alex shouted in anguish as she spun out of control, plummeting to the lunar surface and hitting hard enough to send dust and debris flying in all directions.

The hand reached skyward again, and Nathan came crashing down a moment later, just as hard. Charles turned away from all of them and started to walk quickly towards the two fallen Phoenix hosts, one of the dark-armored figures falling in behind him and carrying something that Alex's mind refused to process for a moment.

_Korvus's sword. Oh God, what does he think he's going to do with that?_ Nothing good, obviously, Alex thought, and gritted his teeth. The numbness was receding even further. He felt like he could almost lift his hand, and if he could do that, maybe he could do something else.

His brother might very well be dead already. His brother's children were at the mercy of the most powerful telepath in the world, who had apparently lost his fucking mind, and if there was one thing he was _not_ going to do, Alex thought savagely, it was lie here and let this happen.

The plasma blast formed almost of its own accord. At close range, even his would-be killer's armor didn't help him. Fighting back a flash of nausea at the near-overwhelming stink of burning flesh, Alex struggled back to his feet. He still felt numb and clumsy, but the force that had kept him pinned to the ground was gone. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned to blast Charles, but the soldiers Charles had left behind weren't hampered by recovering from a telepathic assault. They were quick to intervene, quicker to fire back, and Alex swore as he was forced to dive for cover again.

The others seem to have been freed, too. So he had help, but even so, they were still outnumbered. Three of the dark figures went airborne and cut Stark off even as he tried to blast after Charles. Carol took an energy blast in the face, enough to stagger her if not to knock her down, and Hank and Natasha had somehow managed to wind up cornered in the last two minutes.

Alex fired blast after blast grimly, snarling under his breath as the dark figures dodged with unnatural speed. He managed to take down one coming up on Hank from behind, but his focus on defending his teammate cost him a precious instant to react to another coming at _him_ from above. Alex managed to dodge the blast, but the shockwave of it was enough to knock him flying into a pile of rubble. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision as he hit, hard.

Instinct, rather than conscious thought, had him rolling away an instant before another blast struck the rubble where he'd been sprawled. Alex fired back blind, from a prone position, and heard an atonal scream.

"Havok-" It was Stark's voice, rasping in his earpiece. "I tried... I'm down again, I can't move-"

Another scream, female this time. Natasha, Alex thought, not Carol. _Goddamn it, Summers, get_ up _already!_ Hauling himself back to his feet, he ignored the way the world seemed to spin around him and tried to reorient himself, to find Charles. Take out the telepath. Don't think about why this was happening, just fucking _stop_ it before they lost anyone else...

Something slammed into him from his left, bearing him to the ground. A physical tackle, not an energy blast, and Alex realized in dazed horror that it was Hank. A massive blue-furred fist slammed into the ground where his head would have been if he hadn't jerked it sideways at the last minute.

"Alex... I c-can't stop," Hank choked out, and hit him - successfully, this time. Alex's head snapped backwards, hitting the ground hard, and although he raised his hands to try and block the third blow, it didn't do much to help. Hand to hand, he was no match for Hank, and he couldn't bring himself to blast his friend. Not when he knew what had to be happening here.

A gloved hand came down suddenly on Hank's shoulder, hauling him backwards, and Carol punched him squarely in the jaw, knocking him out. As Hank fell, she immediately reached down to pull Alex back to his feet, but then raised both hands to her head, a cry of agony escaping her as she went to her knees.

#Stay out of this,# Charles's voice said crisply. #All of you.#

_FUCK YOU!_ Alex snarled back at him, scrabbling back to his feet as Carol crumpled the rest of the way to the ground. He was the only one of his team left standing, he saw instantly. There was nothing more from Charles. As if he assumed Alex was safely corralled - or maybe, because he needed his concentration for his _real_ targets.

And there were eight - no, nine of the dark figures standing between him and Charles.

Between him and the only two members of his family he knew for sure were still alive.

Nine weren't going to be enough, Alex thought, snarling under his breath again as he picked his first target. The blast was powerful enough to turn the lunar surface in its path into glass.

If he had to do that to the entire Blue Area, he would.

* * *

It had gotten harder the last day or so to focus, to stay alert for another opportunity to escape, or at least to remove himself as potential bait. Part of Scott was bothered that his thoughts kept heading in that direction, but it was just so hard to hold out any hope. Whatever was inside Charles, it had all his power and none of his humanity. It had torn through his mind over and over, hunting down every memory, every thought about Hope. He could still feel the residue of its presence, cold and oily and burning like acid. Whatever it was, it _wasn't_ Charles. He knew what the Professor's mind felt like, knew it as well as he'd known Jean's. There hadn't been anything of Charles in it. 

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe he wanted to believe that, because the idea of Charles _choosing_ to do this, to murder his own people, was too much to process. Scott forced himself to open his eyes, and stared blindly into the darkness. "Know your enemy," he mumbled. Charles had given him a copy of Sun Tzu once, a long time ago. Too bad he couldn't remember anything useful from it at the moment. 

He was dehydrated, he thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had any water. That was the problem. One of his many problems, at the moment. _Get on your feet, Summers,_ Scott told himself. He thought better on his feet. But then, his thoughts cleared enough that the reality of the restraints holding his wrists pinned to the wall above his head reasserted itself. A dry rattle of a laugh escaped him. Oh, right. He'd jumped that guard. _Forgot about that._

He needed to stop drifting and _think_ , Scott told himself more fiercely. Figure out what he hadn't tried yet, and do that. If opportunities worth seizing didn't present themselves, you made them. It was that simple. It had to be. They needed him. _I won't fail them. Not this time._ Strange how it wasn't about saving the mutant race anymore, how everything had narrowed to Nathan and Rachel and Hope. Maybe that made him selfish? 

There was noise in the hallway outside, and Scott flinched, tensing, the haze in his thoughts receding at a little at the sudden surge of adrenaline. He could hear what sounded like angry voices, and then the wall he was leaning against vibrated, as if something had struck it. Something was obviously going on out there. _Concentrate,_ he told himself doggedly. _Keep your eyes open, and be ready to move._

In the next moment, the door opened. Scott's eyes watered and blurred at the brightness of the light, but he was able to make out a figure that... no, _not_ Gladiator, he told himself. But the resemblance was obvious. _Kubark,_ he thought, confused, as he matched the face to the image Rachel had shown him weeks ago. But why would the Shi'ar prince be here?

The young Strontian gazed down at him for a long moment, his expression hard to define. There was anger there, but also confusion and unease. "I'm worried about my father," Kubark said after a moment. Scott couldn't help but notice the lack of any guards standing behind Kubark. "So I get it. I think... I would have done this anyway. Or I would have wanted to, at least."

Scott couldn't help the flinch as Kubark moved towards him, but it wasn't an attack. The Shi'ar prince tore the restraints right off the walls, freeing Scott as casually as someone else might have torn a piece of paper. _... the hell?_ Scott thought dazedly, but Kubark was grimacing down at him as he tossed the broken restraints aside, and Scott forced himself to focus. 

"He said to tell you he needs you to be his ace in the hole. You look like I could beat you to death with my little finger, so I don't know what good he thinks you'll be."

_Nathan._ It had to be. The bewilderment passed, all at once, and Scott gritted his teeth, using the wall to haul himself upwards. He took a deep breath, willing his knees to hold him. 

"What's happened?" His voice came out gravelly, but stronger than he would have thought. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or hope. Free, he was free, and whatever was happening, at least he wouldn't be sitting here helpless... 

"It's a trap," Kubark said. "The Praetor's going to kill them. I think some of the X-Men who came with me are dead already."

He stepped back out of the doorway, and Scott followed, even as he shuddered at Kubark's words. _Dead already._ The guard who'd been standing by his door was sprawled on the floor, either unconscious or dead, and Scott leaned down to pick up his weapon. 

"Get somewhere safe," he told Kubark, more curtly. "Do you hear me? Thank you for doing this, but you have to stay out of this now. Charles... the Praetor is dangerous."

"I just want to go home." Somehow, the enormously powerful young alien suddenly managed to look and sound like a lost child, and it was enough to pierce even the rapidly building horror and anger Scott was barely managing to keep in check. "I didn't want to come in the first place," Kubark went on, blinking rapidly. "It's... I _remember_. He made me. The Praetor." He looked at Scott almost imploringly. "Are you going to kill him? I think... I think he's doing something to my father, too."

"Yes," Scott said, swallowing past a throat that felt like sandpaper as he checked the gun in his hand to ensure it had a full charge. "Yes, I'm going to kill him."

* * *

The Mind Gem was blazing in his hand, its blue light fiercer than he'd ever seen it. He was drawing on a great deal of its power, the Praetor realized, more than he ever had before. Even the strongest telepath would have been unable to hold two Phoenix hosts unaided. Even now, he could feel them struggling against his grip, the raptor's scream echoing over and over again on the astral plane. 

But the Mind Gem's power was beyond even the Phoenix force, or at least the reflection of the Phoenix embodied in the two felled mutants. Had the firebird itself been here... well, the Praetor reflected grimly as he headed towards the first of the two craters, that would have been interesting.

As it was, he was uncertain how this would end. He was drawing on such a colossal amount of power that it burned as it flowed through him, searing the very structure of his mind. Even the most powerful telepath on Earth was not capable of holding this much pure power for very long. There would be a great deal of damage, even if he was successful. Possibly too much to allow him to continue his work and seek out Hope. 

_Stop this. Please._ The voice at the back of his mind was a bare whisper, weak and pained. Pitiful, the Praetor thought distantly. _You can still stop this. Let them go._

#Be quiet,# he told it. #What is, is. Even if I were inclined to release them, they would kill us all if I did.# The variables had narrowed, he could feel it in the Datasong. Only one way forward now. It was a pity; finishing this himself would have been far more efficient. 

But if this was the end of him, there _was_ another who would finish his work. The Praetor's lip curled in disgust as he heard what sounded like a sob of despair from that distant, fading fragment. 

#Did you really think you could avoid that? Is that why you surrendered to the Datasong so willingly? Thinking that if you served us, we would release your son in the end? You were a fool, Xavier. We do not make deals. We do not show compassion unless it serves a greater strategic purpose. We do what needs to be done, as we always have.#

All of the illusions were gone now, burned away in the light of the Phoenix. The remaining shell was crumbling into ash, and the Praetor finally saw what he was and what he wasn't. He was _not_ Charles Xavier. He was Xavier's shadow, the new being that the Fraternity had incubated inside the human telepath's mind, to help accomplish the Great Purpose and protect the Imperium.

The clarity was pleasing. He would accomplish his purpose here, and if he left the work unfinished, the entity that had been David Haller would finish the job.

Reaching the edge of the first crater, the Praetor stopped, gazing down at the red-haired young woman lying sprawled on the ground. Light still surrounded her, flaring erratically, and her limbs thrashed feebly, as if part of her thought the grip that held her pinned to the ground was physical. Her mind was in shock, he realized as he touched it cautiously. In shock, and... disintegrating. Rapidly. His telepathic attack would not have accomplished that on its own, but it must have helped along a process already well-advanced. The straw that broke the camel's back.

#It's a mercy,# he told what was left of Charles Xavier. #Observe her for yourself. She's already dying.# He climbed down to where Rachel lay, the Gem flaring even more brightly as he layered his defenses carefully. Even a dying Phoenix could be dangerous. 

Her whole body spasmed as he approached, the flares of light growing even more erratic. Her skin was incandescent, the white-hot of molten steel. Strange, the Praetor reflected neutrally, that the Phoenix was consuming her when she was the one who had hosted it for so long. 

"P-Professor..." Her voice was weak, barely audible, and the green eyes that met his were unfocused, full of pain he could see even through their pulsing glow. There was no coherence in her thoughts, no awareness of her danger. Her mind _reached out_ to him, feeble but imploring. "It _hurts_..."

"I know," the Praetor murmured. "Close your eyes, child. I will end the pain, I promise." And she believed him, he sensed it. He took a chance and crouched beside her, laying a hand against the side of her face. The heat coming off her skin was almost painful, but he focused on projecting an image directly into her mind: Scott kneeling beside her, grief and love twisting his features.

Compassion for a strategic purpose. Far easier if she laid there quietly as he killed her. 

Rachel gave a shuddering sigh and closed her eyes, glowing, burning tears leaking down her cheeks. #I'm sorry.# The telepathic whisper was anguished. #I tried, Dad...#

#I know,# he sent back to her, watching as her defenses wavered and fell. More than enough of an opening. On the astral plane, the Phoenix was screaming in rage and denial and anguish, such soul-shattering anguish that the Praetor was taken aback. 

But there wasn't enough left of Rachel Summers to react. Light exploded in the other crater, but the Praetor drew on more of the Gem's power, and his grip on Cable held. For now. 

He had to hurry. He rose, reaching out a hand, and the Raptor beside him placed the sword's hilt in it. The Praetor shifted his grip to hold it more securely. 

The sword was very old, predating the Rook'shir lineage by centuries. To the Shi'ar, its technology had been mysterious, so advanced it might as well be magic.

To the Fraternity, it was a primitive tool, an interesting example of how their technology had been put to use by the people the Raptors had sworn to protect. The blade's initial capture of a Phoenix fragment all those cycles ago had been a fluke, mere chance. The Fraternity's artisans had examined it carefully, determined how it had happened, and then modified the blade. 

It could be lifted by anyone, now, and it no longer simply absorbed. It _extracted_.

Rachel's eyes flew open suddenly. #Nathan?# Her voice was still weak, and those hazy eyes roamed aimlessly. #Where's my brother... where's Nate...#

And then she screamed aloud, a scream that cut off in a gurgling, choking noise as the blade pierced her chest and embedded itself several inches into the ground beneath her. The Praetor held grimly to the hilt, his teeth bared and his eyes squeezed shut against the fire that boiled up around him. He felt it, felt the blade _tear_ the Phoenix out of Rachel as her body convulsed around it. Power poured out through the hilt and fountained skywards, incandescence turning to flickering flames and then finally to dying sparks as it rose towards the stars.

And he felt the extraction shatter her mind, like a stained-glass window fracturing beneath one massive blow. It left nothing for the Phoenix to return to, nothing for it to restore. It was the only way to be sure. 

The light died. Breathing hard, the Praetor yanked the blade free of her body. Even though he had drawn on the Mind Gem's power to shield himself, his armor was scorched, and from the feel of it, exposed flesh had burned as well. But it was simple enough to turn off his pain center, and he did.

Even when he did, his hands were trembling, his heart racing, but he watched her as closely as he could, with his mind and his eyes alike. But there was no sign of unnatural healing. No flicker of fire in the darkening rubble of her thoughts.

Nothing at all. 

"One down," he murmured aloud, roughly.

Still staggered by the backlash of the extraction and Rachel's death, he didn't sense the attack for a crucial instant. If the Raptor beside him hadn't darted into the path of the plasma blast, he would have died right there. 

"You _son of a bitch!_ " Alex Summers roared from the edge of the crater, his grief and rage almost a physical thing, battering at the Praetor's already-damaged shields. The Praetor lashed out at him in the same instant that he fired another plasma blast. It went wild as Alex staggered backwards, hitting the ground. 

"I told you to stay out of this, Earther," the Praetor said harshly, reaching out with the Mind Gem to grasp Alex's mind and break it. Stubbornness seemed to be encoded into the Summers DNA. 

But even with the Gem's help, his grip... slipped, unable to find traction in the wild anguish and fury swamping Alex's thoughts. _Too late, Ray, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, kill him, KILL HIM-_

The Praetor tried again to shut down Alex's mind - and swore in disbelief as his grip slipped yet again and another plasma blast came his way. The Mind Gem reacted seemingly of its own accord, and it was deflected by a telekinetic shield. #Just DIE, Havok!# the Praetor raged, unnerved. Where were his Raptors? Why had they not stopped him? He would have to do it himself, it seemed. If he could. There was something strange at work here, some sort of energy that disrupted his psionic efforts. As if he was looking into an unending series of mirrors and kept grasping at reflections. 

But as he shifted the bulk of his focus to Havok - _kill him and be done with it,_ the combined voices of the Fraternity still in Nullspace called out to him, _kill them all and be done with it_ \- just a fraction too much power came with it. It was the tiniest miscalculation, one he started to rectify instantly. 

Too late. The psionic trap holding Nathan shattered, and the Phoenix's scream was deafening as a firebird of pure white light rose from the second crater. The Praetor looked up, met gray eyes turned incandescent silver, and knew all at once that the Fraternity had misinterpreted the Datasong. They had seen Nathan's restoration to life and full power as a fluke, the desperate act of a child determined not to lose her father, and his role as secondary. 

But this man had once been the axis upon which an entire timeline had turned. There was weight in that, weight and force that could still exert a powerful influence over the timestream. It was no accident that _he_ had raised Hope. 

The Phoenix had followed its own plan all along. The rest of the Fraternity was screaming with sudden clarity at the back of his mind, howling in deafening, discordant warning as the variables fell into place. They had missed the moment of convergence, missed it by years. The time to have stopped this was the moment that Cable had taken an orphaned infant in his arms. Not now. 

But now was all they had. This battle. _I have to kill him._ The Praetor raised the Mind Gem, drew on its power as deeply as he could. No more restraint. It was now or never. 

A shield took shape. An attack was launched. Irresistible force met immovable object, and the ground beneath them began to tremble and collapse inwards. Impossibly, Alex was still trying to fire on him, and the Praetor spared an instant's concentration to reach out and smash him down into unconsciousness – a temporary fix at best, but if he could finish one Summers he could finish them all. But he failed to grasp Alex's thoughts _again_ , and Nathan pressed the attack, the talons of the firebird tearing into his shield.

Into, but not through. It was stalemate, as impossible as that seemed. He held an Infinity Gem. Nathan only reflected the Phoenix's power; he was a host, not a true avatar like his daughter. This should _not_ have been an equal match. The Praetor felt blood running from his nose and ears, the strain of using the Mind Gem at such a level already unendurable. Combined with the agony of the fire boiling at his shields, trying to force its way into the cracks that kept appearing as quickly as he could repair them, it was almost impossible to maintain his focus.

_I will save the Imperium,_ he thought distantly. _I must..._ Alex was still firing plasma blast after plasma blast at him, with a dogged determination that seemed endless. Trying to distract him, the Praetor thought – and knew, at that moment, what his strategy needed to be.

* * *

Somehow, he made it out of the warbird without drawing any attention. An emergency hatch at the bow of the ship opened directly to the outside – ten feet above the ground, admittedly, but it was well clear of the main airlocks and any guards that might be stationed there. It seemed impossible that he hadn't been caught, Scott thought distantly. Maybe the Shi'ar were glued to their sensors watching the confrontation outside. Maybe Kubark had decided to help him out a little more. Hard to tell. 

Harder to care. Up ahead there was a pulsing blue light, like a star had fallen to the surface of the moon. The fire that had filled the sky when he'd first opened the hatch was fading as he watched. Scott forced himself into a run, ignoring the pain that tore through his chest and the way his legs went rubbery after no more than half a dozen steps. Kubark was right, he was in no condition for this. But that didn't matter. He couldn't _let_ it matter. He had fought through worse for less reason.

_Nathan. Rachel._ He had faith that Hope wasn't here, that they wouldn't have let her come. But his son and daughter would have walked into this trap for him with their eyes wide open. It was who they were. So damned brave, so... unbending in the way they loved. Few of the other X-Men would have seen either of them that way. They were fooled by the facade. The scars.

But Scott knew his children. Knew how strong they were. It was the ones who'd lost the most who loved the most fiercely. _Please,_ he thought wildly, willing them to hear him. _Please hold on, I'm coming..._

The ground heaved beneath him, and light exploded skywards from the site of the battle ahead. Not _just_ light. It was a firebird, Scott realized as he stumbled, going to his knees. A red-gold firebird, somehow compressed into a column of flame and propelled upwards, twisting and tearing and disintegrating as it went. 

Beautiful, even as it died. " _No._ " It hurt to form even that single word, as if it had been ripped out of his chest along with his heart. 

_Rachel._ He knew. He heard her, calling out to him and Nathan and Alex. Saying goodbye. 

The blue glow pulsed and steadied, and Scott saw the unmistakable energy signature of his brother's plasma blasts. Alex. Alex was there, alive and still fighting. Then there was a flash of white-gold fire, billowing flames that had to be another Phoenix host. _Nathan._.

Desolation crumbled beneath a wave of sudden, ferocious determination. Scott took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself back to his feet, back to a run. As he ran, he pushed the grief into a dark corner and left it there, making himself focus and pull together his own mental defenses. 

He had been here before. He had seen someone he loved die here in the Blue Area, right in front of him, and it had hurt so much he'd thought he wouldn't survive it. But he _had_ , and he couldn't let ghosts of the past stop him now. Not when there was a chance to save what was left of his family.

No time to feel. Later for that, if there was a later. He had to fight.

The ruins gave him cover as he made his way around from the west. Some care had to be taken. All he had was the weapon he'd taken off the guard; he hadn't found tools to remove his inhibitor collar on his way out of the warbird, although he'd tried. If he _wasn't_ careful, he'd be useless. The Praetor would brush him aside like a fly. Truthfully, the only hope he had was that Nathan and Alex could keep the Praetor busy. 

It _was_ possible to sneak up on a telepath, if the telepath was sufficiently distracted. 

Closer, and he saw the white-gold firebird erupt out of a crater and dive at the Praetor, smashing into the massive shield of blue light, over and over. The shield didn't break, but nor did the Praetor launch a counterattack. A stalemate? Scott thought, leaping for a handhold on the remains of a wall and hauling himself upwards. _Need to be higher._ He ran half-crouched along the top of the wall, moving as fast and as silently as he could. His weapon was short-range, without much of a sight. He had to have a clear shot, or it would be a wasted shot.

And there _was_ a shot. However the Praetor was managing this - because Charles wasn't a telekinetic, had never been a telekinetic, and Scott didn't understand how this was happening - he obviously had no sense of how one created a proper telekinetic shield. The shield glowed so fiercely that Scott could see exactly what areas it covered and didn't cover. All of the substance of it was out front, blocking Alex and Nathan. 

The shield protecting his back was barely visible, a faint, shimmering veil of light. It was a chance, at least. That was all he could ask for right now. 

_Almost there. Almost..._ So close. Close enough to see the stalemate break. The Praetor half-turned towards Alex – not quite turning his back on the raging Phoenix trying to smash through his shield, but almost. Some would have called it reckless, foolhardy. 

Scott saw what was about to happen and knew it was going to work. Only a powerful telepath or a strategist who knew his enemy very well could have predicted Nathan's reaction precisely enough for this to work. Xavier, or what Charles had become, was both.

The Praetor dropped his shield, and in the same instant, attacked _Alex_. A wave of debris like a tsunami of stone and metal swept towards Alex, who did his best to try and blast it away. But there was too much of it, just too much.

An instant before it would have crushed Alex, the torrent of debris hit a shield that glowed white-gold. The Praetor's gambit had been perfectly timed. Attacker and defender had switched places, but Nathan was defending _Alex_ , not himself. Acting to protect his family, and leaving an opening. 

And the Praetor took advantage. He spun, raising a hand surrounded by a nimbus of incandescent blue. A spear of that same blazing blue light shot outwards, piercing the firebird and striking Nathan directly in the chest. Scott bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as his son fell out of the air, the firebird collapsing around him as he hit the ground. Nathan's shield – and the debris – fell an instant later, and Scott couldn't see Alex at all. 

The Praetor staggered, the blue light dying to erratic flickers around whatever he held in his hand. His shield was gone, and now Scott could see the burned, blackened skin of his face and hands, the blood streaming from his nose and ears, the charred armor. The Praetor hadn't come out of this unscathed, but he took a stumbling step towards where Nathan had fallen. Then another. Determination was written all over that burned, bloodied face. 

_Damn you,_ Scott thought emptily, raising the weapon and taking aim. His daughter. His son. His brother. 

The Praetor was so focused on moving towards Nathan that he didn't even look in Scott's direction. Nathan wasn't moving at all. 

Scott pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again. Without hesitating.


	21. Blowing On The Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened on the moon echoes all the way back to Earth, and in the Blue Area, the survivors pick up the pieces.

Emma supposed she should be irritated that using her knowledge of Wanda's presence as leverage was no longer an option; she could have gotten more mileage out of that tactic, she was sure. But when Rogers had called to tell her that Hope was safe at Avengers Tower (and hadn't done anything _too_ foolish) she'd been too relieved to bother with regret. It didn't mean she was going to spare the girl a few sharp comments on the subject of her little vanishing act, of course. Individual initiative was all well and good, but the stakes just now were entirely too high for recklessness.

But that could wait until later, when everyone was back safely from the moon. _When, not if._ She had to believe they would be successful, because the alternative didn't bear thinking on. Right now, she had this impromptu conference to survive, and she was keenly aware that in this room, she stood in Scott's place. It was important to do that justice. _She_ had to be the master strategist, at least for now. 

Taking the chair beside Hope's, Emma wondered distantly how Erik's family reunion was going. When Rogers had broken the news of Wanda's presence, he'd allowed a visit, and Illyana had teleported Erik to the SHIELD safehouse. It was the only reason he wasn't here, but perhaps that was for the best. Namor was doing a characteristically spectacular job of being disruptive all on his own. 

"You realize," he was saying to Rogers, "that very few of us will want Maximoff _anywhere_ near this? Her very presence is offensive-"

"Namor," Reed Richards said patiently, "if we're to devise a plan to use the Phoenix to undo M-Day, it only makes sense to have the source of M-Day close at hand." He had already been at the Tower when she and Namor had arrived, and had in fact been the one to greet them in the lobby. He had given them a quick update on the status of the rescue mission on their way up to the conference room. Launch control at the SHIELD facility had lost contact with the ship when it had passed behind the moon, just as expected. 

_Nothing to do now but wait,_ Reed had said, not without sympathy. Emma had managed not to snarl at him. Barely. 

"Close at hand, perhaps," Emma said in her best mild tone; Reed _was_ on their side, but she thought he could use a brief reminder of how complicated the situation truly was. "But I think it would be best for everyone if she came no closer than she needs to be. The last thing we need is for her to become impatient and take things into her own hands. Again." She smiled thinly at Rogers, who gazed back at her steadily. He hadn't mentioned that this news hadn't been a surprise to her; kind of him, she supposed. "Not to mention that our two teams can ill-afford to be in conflict just now."

"We don't _really_ need her," Hope murmured, huddled in her chair. It was one that had clearly been built for one of the larger-than-average Avengers, and she seemed almost lost in it, her knees drawn up to her chest. The glow around her was flickering wanly. Her demeanor might be subdued, but Emma could sense how deeply unsettled she was. It wasn't just worry over the rescue mission, either; the conversation with Wanda had jarred her badly. They would have to talk about why later. 

"I saw all I needed to see," Hope went on, more uneasily. "I still see it. The cage. I can't get it out of my head, it's so _wrong_ -" The flames steadied, blazing a little higher, and she stopped, taking an audible deep breath. "What we _don't_ want is her... touching what she did, or manipulating it in any way. Not now." She glared at Rogers for a moment. "You make sure she knows that. This can't be about her _redeeming_ herself anymore."

"I don't think Wanda needs to be told that," Rogers said, patiently but firmly. "In fact, I suspect she came to that same conclusion before all this started. She's done her best to intervene as little as possible-"

"Consultation doesn't class as intervention?" Namor asked sharply. "I don't think the rest of the X-Men are going to see it that way. What is her goal, in being part of this in the first place?" he went on restlessly. "She should be here accounting for herself, not closeted with her father. This isn't the time for self-indulgence."

"There will be time to speak to Wanda later," Stephen Strange said, but he sounded oddly distracted. "This is only a preliminary discussion, after all. There are a number of others who must also be consulted..." He stopped, frowning as his eyes flickered towards the windows. Emma tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him. 

"Is it that hard to believe that she wants to help?" Rogers asked Namor, not seeming to notice Strange's distraction. Emma managed not to roll eyes. Wanda had an uncanny ability to inspire her defenders. "I know the last time, it went... badly." He stopped, flushed, as if he'd appalled himself with the understatement. "But even so, she tried. You have to give her that."

Namor snorted, loudly and derisively. "Tried, and nearly made things worse. Pardon me if I don't exude faith in the woman who deactivated the X-gene in a fit of insane pique."

Strange _was_ bothered by something, Emma thought. She could feel him reaching outwards, seeking the source of whatever had caught his attention, and she sent her thoughts after his instinctively, only half-listening to the conversation as it continued. 

"Namor," Reed sighed, "how is this productive? We have to deal with the situation as it is. Besides," and there was something sharper in his voice, "unless you want to be at odds with your _own_ teammate, I'd be very cautious about what you say to Magneto about his daughter."

#Strange?# Emma sent as Namor riposted with a blistering comment about parenthood softening one's brains. #What is it?#

Beside Emma, Hope shrank in on herself, eyes widening. #Something... something's very _cold_ , Emma,# she sent uncertainly. The flames around her flickered almost fearfully. 

_I can't identify it._ Strange's mental voice was absolutely clear, rare in a non-psi. _It's a disturbance on the astral plane. In the very fabric of the astral plane... there._

Emma let herself be directed, and something twisted in the pit of her stomach as she realized that the direction she was heading was outward, away from Earth. Towards the moon.

And there _was_ something. It had simply been so... deep, at first, that it had escaped immediate notice. Whatever it was, it was happening at such a great distance that she could pick up only vague impressions, more sensation than anything else. It made her think of waves, of a vast tsunami, rising up and...

_Blue._ Her mind was full of blue light, and she gasped in pain, clutching at her head. It burned, but coldly. _So_ cold, cold and ruthlessly purposeful...

#Rachel,# Hope cried out, sounding just as staggered, horror turning to anguish as she reached farther than Emma and Strange, the Phoenix lending her far greater range. #RACHEL! No, no... _stop, leave her alone, KILL YOU-_ #

#NO!# There had been only a very few moments in her life where Emma Frost had given in to panic. This time, she embraced the frantic strength of it, needing it as she reached out and grabbed at Hope's mind desperately. She could already feel the astral plane here in this very room start to warp and twist as Hope prepared to take herself to the moon. #Hope, stay here, STAY!#

**_#Let me go, LET ME GO! I have to stop him, he's killing them!#_** Too strong. She was too strong. The chair beneath Emma vanished, sending her to the floor, and then all the furniture in the room was flying through the air. The windows blew out in sharp, brutal detonations under the blast of psychic fire as the firebird appeared around Hope and swelled into immensity, burning white-hot with anguished rage. Cracks appeared across the ceiling, part of it collapsing in a rain of dust and debris.

Sprawled on the floor, Emma gritted her teeth and held onto the girl's mind for dear life. She took in the chaotic scene at a glance. Strange might be able to do something, use a spell to calm her - but no, that huddled form by the wall was Strange, and he didn't seem to be moving at all. A stray TK blast had sent Rogers out the window and Reed had stretched to catch him, all his focus on keeping himself anchored as he reeled Steve back in.

Which left only one option. 

#NAMOR! Knock her out, do it now!# Emma projected desperately at the Atlantean king, crying aloud as Hope turned on her, lashing out with enough power to crack her defenses in an instant. Namor, already in the air, dodged a flying piece of the conference table and _blurred_ at Hope as Emma launched a counterattack of her own, knowing that she had to keep Hope's attention on her if he was going to have even a chance of succeeding. 

She didn't see the blow, but the consequences were immediate. The firebird winked out, and Hope slumped into Namor's arms as he eased her to the floor. The furniture and debris floated for an instant longer, then fell. Wincing, wiping away blood from her nose, Emma pulled herself back to her feet and stumbled towards Namor and Hope. 

"What in God's name just happened?" Rogers said shakily. There were alarms shrilling already, and Emma's shields were so damaged that she could sense each of the minds approaching rapidly as the other Avengers in residence responded to the explosion. 

"Rachel's dead," Emma managed, half-falling beside Hope. "It's-" Her eyes closed and she sucked in a sharp, agonized breath. 

There was a corner of her mind where Scott always was. It had been dead-silent these last several days – blocked, of course. But now those blocks were down, and she felt him. Felt everything he felt, and for a moment was utterly at its mercy. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she bent over Hope to hide them, trying futilely to choke back a sob. 

"Charles," she heard Strange murmur groggily, sounding horrified. "Charles, what have you done?"

* * *

Alex struggled back to consciousness, not sure how he was still alive. He'd seen the shield go down, leaving him an instant to wonder if Nathan had just killed himself trying to save him before everything had gone black. 

He hadn't expected to wake up. 

But something was odd about the debris just above him. It had... flowed together somehow, creating a partial dome. As if Nathan's shield had been real fire and the debris had started to melt around it. Nowhere near complete, the partial dome had still managed to fall directly over him. His left leg was pinned under something and hurt, a lot, but he wasn't dead. 

And he had to get the hell out of here. Right now. Xavier, or whatever the hell was wearing Xavier's face, could still be out there. Alex took a deep breath and started to cough. So much damned dust, moondust no less. 

His earpiece was still in, he could feel it. A moment's effort let him get his hand up to his collar, to check the com built into the containment suit there. 

"Stark?" he croaked. Stark had still been conscious and talking, he was the best bet. "Danvers? Anyone?"

Nothing. Then he heard the mass of debris atop him groan and shift, and Alex gritted his teeth, pushing the fear away. _I am not dying at the bottom of a fucking pile of rubble._

He closed his eyes, breathing in and out and forcing himself not to listen to the ominous noises above. His powers were at their strongest in space, he had energy to spare. This would work. One good-sized explosion to disintegrate the debris and clear enough room to climb out of here. Easy enough. 

Alex breathed out, and let go. For a moment he felt like he was in the heart of the sun, the roar of shattering stone and tearing metal drowned out by the thunder of the omnidirectional blast wave itself. Almost instinctively, he shielded his face and head with an arm, just in case any of the debris came right back down. 

But it didn't. The blast had been big enough. Alex opened his eyes and looked up through clouds of billowing steam at the stars. He felt a little dizzy as he pushed himself to a sitting position. That hadn't been all the energy in his system, but it had been enough to feel it. Glass broke beneath him, biting into his hands, and he winced at the grinding feel in his left knee. But pain was okay. It told you that you were alive. 

"Sound off, people," he grated, hauling himself to his feet and hobbling across the hundred meters or so of melted landscape. On the borders of the blast radius, the debris was still piled high. He'd have to climb. 

Nothing in his mind. Not that cold, acidic presence that hadn't felt at all like the Professor. No fiery presences either, and Alex bit his lip hard, wrestling back the rage and grief with all the self-control he could muster. Not the time. Not yet. 

The Shi'ar, or whoever the hell the black-armored bastards had been wouldn't have pulled back without making sure he was dead. Even if the rest of the team was dead, if there was no one left for him to help, there'd be that. They'd come for him, and he had to be ready. 

There was a crackle of static in his earpiece. The energy discharge, Alex thought, grimacing as his weight came down again on his bad leg. That was the problem with the coms. You murder a Phoenix host, he thought bitterly, and that sort of thing happened. 

"-no sign of movement from the warbird. The last of those armored types pulled back, too." It was Carol's voice, sounding tight with pain even through the static. "Seeing double over here, but I'm still functional."

"We need help," Alex grunted, scrambling up the mountain of debris. His knee was a mass of fiery agony, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it; he'd had worse, and this wasn't over. "Someone needs to get that beacon up, get us a teleport out of here." They wouldn't be able to talk to Earth until they had something in lunar orbit to bounce their signal back to the listening satellite net, but there was no question of abiding by the conditions the Shi'ar had set now. 

"Working on it." Stark's voice was barely audible through the static. "Don't see Xavier. Is he down?"

"Give me a minute." The crater Rachel had made when she'd fallen - his mind shuddered away from the memory, locked it away with the grief - should be right in front of him when he got to the top. That was the last place he'd seen Xavier standing. _Be dead, you son of a bitch. Whoever you are..._ If there was any justice in the world, Nathan had managed one last shot.

Alex readied a blast, just in case, but discovered that it was a bit overambitious to think that he could climb with one hand and one good leg. A slip turned into something worse as his bad leg buckled, and he would have fallen if someone hadn't reached down and grabbed him his arm, arresting his fall. 

He nearly blasted the person above him before he realized who it was. It took a moment; the eyes were unfamiliar, but then, he hadn't seen them in years. 

"I thought you were dead." Scott's voice was flat, sapped of all emotion as he pulled Alex upwards. "I thought..." He stopped, looking back over his shoulder at the crater below. 

Alex followed the direction of his gaze, and let the air in his lungs out on a shaky sigh. Rachel was there, still where she'd fallen. But there was a second body, too. 

Xavier had fallen face-down. Even from here, Alex could see the blood pooling under his head. What was left of his head. 

"Xavier's down. Dead," he said over the coms, his voice just as flat as Scott's. The only thing he could feel was relief. That seemed wrong, somehow. 

"I shot him," Scott went on. His face was chalk-white beneath the bruises and dried blood, and Alex focused on him, seeing the stiffness in the way he held himself. The visible injuries were probably only the tip of the iceberg, Alex knew; he'd spent his share of time in the hands of Shi'ar torturers. "Killed him. I didn't know what else to do. I-"

"Stop," Alex said roughly, pulling Scott towards him for a brief, hard hug. Willing him to hold it together, because they weren't out of this yet. "You did what you had to do. You rescued your fucking rescuers, so don't you dare beat yourself up for this."

"I wasn't fast enough." It was almost inaudible, but in the next moment, Scott stiffened, the walls coming back up.

Alex let him go, if not far. He kept a firm grip on Scott's arm, needing a closer look at the inhibitor collar his brother was wearing. _Some sort of explosive charge, do I want to mess with that right now?_ Then again, he couldn't rule out the possibility that the Shi'ar could trigger it remotely, and _that_ was simply not going to happen. 

He could deactivate the charge separately from the lock, he realized after a moment. "Hold still," Alex muttered, grimacing as he carefully manipulated the collar. "We've got a visor for you back on the ship. Have to leave this on until then, but I think we'd both like it to be _just_ inhibiting your powers, right?"

There was a brief roar in the distance, and then Stark was cursing in his earpiece. "That warbird's prepping for take-off, I can see them testing their engines. Do we let it go?"

"I don't think we're in any position to try and stop them," Alex said tightly, sweat beading his forehead and his eyes locked on what he was doing. "There," he gritted, cutting the last connection. "Done."

There was a flash of light above, something small, fast, and heading upward on a trajectory from the location of _their_ ship. Stark's beacon, Alex assumed. 

Scott's eyes followed it for a moment before he shook himself. "Nathan," he said, his gaze shifting unerringly to the direction where Nathan had been during the fight. His expression was still detached, but there was a flash of urgency in his eyes as he looked back at Alex. "We've got to go. Now."

Alex sucked in a sharp breath at the flicker of gold out there on the shattered landscape. "We're going to check on Cable," he told Stark and Carol. "Stark, cover us if we need it, all right?"

"We?" Carol asked sharply.

"Scott's here." Alex swallowed. "Rachel's down too. She's gone." His voice broke despite his best effort to keep it steady. 

He heard Stark curse again, and nothing at all from Carol for a moment. "Get to Cable," she finally said, quietly. "We'll cover you and the wounded."

* * *

That flicker of light had been no better than fool's gold, Alex thought bleakly as they reached his nephew's fallen form. "God," he muttered, swallowing back nausea as he got a closer look at the shattered wreckage of Nathan's chest, "what did Xavier hit him with?" It couldn't have been the sword. It had still been lying back there on the ground beside Rachel. 

There was too much blood. It had pooled beneath Nathan's body, nearly black in the faint bluish light. He wasn't bleeding out, he'd _already_ bled out. _Too late,_ Alex thought, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Too late again. 

But Scott knelt down right beside Nathan, heedless of the blood. He'd ignored the Shi'ar warbird as it had ascended from the surface, too, as if his former captors didn't warrant a moment more of his time. Alex had to wonder how long his brother could possibly keep going. He was in bad shape; you could see it in the way he was moving. 

_I need to get him back to the ship,_ Alex thought distantly. They'd brought medical supplies, just in case. Nathan looked to be beyond help unless the Phoenix managed to pull off a miracle. He had to focus on doing what he could for Scott. 

"He's healing," Scott said tightly, and Alex's attention jerked back to Nathan. "It's trying to heal him. Look, you can see it." He reached out and laid a hand against Nathan's throat, as if checking for a pulse. Judging by the way his jaw clenched, he didn't find one. "Come on," he muttered. "Come on, Nate. You've never given up before. Now's not the time to start."

For a moment, Alex honestly thought Scott had lost it. But as he crouched down on Nathan's other side and forced himself to look more closely, to focus on the flickering golden light, he _did_ see it: torn tissue regenerating, oh so slowly. Fast enough to save him? The Phoenix had healed Nathan from the T-O virus, Alex told himself doggedly. It could do this, too. 

But the simple fact was that Nathan wasn't breathing, and there was no way they could try and breathe for him, not with those injuries. Could the Phoenix heal a host whose brain was dying? It hadn't shown any signs of trying to revive Rachel, Alex thought, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. 

The sound of repulsors broke the silence as Stark landed a short distance away. He went to Xavier's body first, bending down for a moment, and Alex caught a flicker of blue light in his peripheral vision. Only then did Stark come over to join them.

"The warbird's heading for the stargate," he said. "Our beacon's up and transmitting. Earth should be getting our distress signal any minute now..." He trailed off, and Alex glanced up to see him gazing down at Nathan, his expression unreadable. "Is he going to make it until help gets here?"

"He is." Scott's voice was low, tight, shaking with something that wasn't quite anger, despite its ferocity. "He has to. Because Hope's their target, and we're all just collateral damage. They're going to come back for her, Nathan," he grated, bending over his son. One hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing so hard Scott's knuckles whitened. "Do you hear me? They're going to throw everything they have at her, and if you're not there to protect her, she's dead. You leave her now, and she's _dead_ -"

"Jesus, Scott," Alex said, or started to say. Because Nathan suddenly convulsed, a wheezing, choking noise of pain escaping him, and it was all he and Scott could do to hold him down as the convulsions continued and flames blazed up around them.

Not just a simple lightshow. It was the firebird, spreading its wings as if the Phoenix was pouring back into Nathan, too vast for his body to hold it all. It was hard to breathe in the midst of it all; the flames didn't burn, but the air was charged and so heavy that it was a struggle to draw it into his lungs. Alex forced his watering eyes open, needing to see what was happening. 

The wound was regenerating, far faster than it had before, but Nathan continued to thrash, coughing blood and making sounds that should not be coming from a human throat, choked howls of agony overlaid by the raptor-scream of the Phoenix. The repeated psychic screams sent spikes of agony from one side of Alex's skull to the other, but he gritted his teeth and held on. A moment later, Stark half-fell across Nathan's lower body to help hold him down. 

"Nate, listen to me," Scott was shouting, his voice shaking. "Focus on my voice!"

But it went on and on, the critically wounded telepath projecting pure agony at all three of them. Although none of them wound up blasted across the lunar landscape - Nathan had to be aware on some level that they were trying to help, he thought - Alex knew he wasn't the only one on the verge of collapse by the time Nathan went limp, his chest heaving. The air returned to normal, and even the echo of the Phoenix's screams finally died. The firebird had dwindled to a flickering nimbus, and Nathan's gray eyes stared up blankly at the stars. 

#The price of Xavier's dream is the ancient Aerie's fall.# The projected thought seemed half-delirious. #Fall. Everything falls. Everything burns...#

"Nathan?" Scott said wearily, wiping away blood from his nose. Alex tasted blood on his lips and realized he had the same problem. "Can you hear me?" Scott went on, cradling his son's head in his lap carefully. 

#Burn it away. Burn the cage away. Again and again and again...#

"He's in shock," Stark said, sagging where he sat. He raised a hand to his head, grimacing. "Damn it, it's like my mental ears are ringing..."

#Burn the tree. Burn it down...#

Scott jerked as if Nathan's words had been a physical blow, what little color there was in his face draining away. "The tree," he mumbled, sounding shocky enough all of a sudden that Alex reached out a hand to steady him. "He saw it too."

Alex suspected that he very much needed to know what that meant.


	22. The Wind Is Full Of A Thousand Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Earth, the Illuminati take stock of the disaster, while Scott says goodbye to Rachel and faces Logan. Meanwhile, Hope pulls Nathan back from a battle in another place, and he awakens changed. The Phoenix may be done playing nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter; got sidelined by some family medical stuff. All is well and improving steadily, so hopefully I should be back to a regular updating schedule!

It sat on the table between them, occasionally flickering with blue light. Steve stared at the Mind Gem almost blankly, still trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. What Charles had used it to do. He'd debriefed Hank, Carol, and Alex Summers, and gotten Tony's more detailed report here, but he still couldn't quite make himself process it.

The others didn't seem to be doing much better. Tony looked exhausted, as if the effort of relaying what had happened had sapped the last of his energy. Strange was obviously still feeling the effects of being blown into that wall when Hope had erupted, and Reed was frowning, staring off into space. Even Namor was silent, staring bleakly at the gem as he slouched in his chair, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Steve knew he needed to say something to break the silence, but he'd be damned if he could think of what. Three X-Men dead, including one Phoenix host. Betsy Braddock and Natasha were alive, but unresponsive; Frost wasn't sure anything could be done for either of them, the damage to their minds was so severe. She had been more reassuring about Cable, _although I can't speak for his state of mind when he wakes up, obviously,_ she had told Steve.

Somehow, of all the horrors of what had happened on the moon, it was Ororo's death that had truly shocked Steve. She had been one of Xavier's most cherished students – Steve had seen the love in Charles's eyes whenever he spoke of her – and yet, according to Tony, he'd killed her without hesitating. As bait. Steve grimaced and swallowed past the tightness in his throat as he remembered the look on T'Challa's face when the Black Panther had seen his wife's body. 

"We need to give this to someone," he finally said, inclining his head at the Mind Gem. Practicalities first, maybe. One step at a time and they might manage to find their way through this. "None of us should be holding two. I'd suggest Emma Frost."

"Agreed," Namor said brusquely, finally looking up. "It should be a telepath, and one connected to the X-Men. She is the best candidate." His mouth twisted bitterly. "The only candidate, at the moment. Even if Braddock recovers, Frost is stronger. More experienced with power and its costs. We don't dare give it to Cable, not while he holds the Phoenix."

"No," Strange said, stirring finally. "We most definitely cannot. I can feel the anger in the Phoenix," he went on, his expression going distant and troubled. "It is... _seething_. Through both Hope and Nathan. What happened on the moon has enraged it."

"I've got Hank keeping a close eye on both of them," Steve said grimly. "He'll alert me immediately if... well, if anything happens that we need to know about immediately." Whether they'd be able to _do_ anything if Cable woke up in a rage and decided he was going to Chandilar was another matter entirely.

"I agree that Emma is the best choice," Reed said, his expression somber as he folded his hands together on the table in front of him, "and that we need to watch the remaining Phoenix hosts carefully. But right now we have to talk about Charles. The X-Men are going to be very badly shaken by all of this. It's important that those of us in this room present a united front, especially if - _when_ questions arise about the Mind Gem. Tony, go over what Braddock said about what she sensed from Charles?"

Tony actually shuddered. "Braddock said it _wasn't_ him. That something had... eaten him away from the inside. 'A shell that thinks it's Charles'. I don't know if that means possession, or something else entirely." He swallowed visibly. "She projected this image... I don't even know how to describe it. Black bees in his brain. There's no way the Mind Gem could have done that, right?"

"I don't see how," Reed said immediately. "Much more likely that we're looking at some sort of outside influence here."

"It wouldn't be the first time Charles has been possessed." Although what Braddock had described sounded like 'something else', or at least possession that had been very far advanced. Steve rubbed at his temples, willing the headache to recede. "I just wish there had been another way," he went on quietly. "But we knew there was always the possibility of something like this happening again." 

No one had to mention Onslaught aloud. SHIELD had some very secret and drastic plans for just such an eventuality, not that they would have done any good today. Those plans hadn't factored in the Mind Gem. Maybe they should have, Steve thought bleakly. 

"I... regret Xavier's death, but in my opinion, we barely averted an even greater disaster," Namor said flatly. Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "What would have happened, had Xavier finished Cable? You all saw the girl's reaction when she sensed Rachel's death. She would certainly have sensed her father die as well. Even setting aside the fact that Xavier was murdering his family in front of him, Summers did the only thing he _could_ do."

Namor straightened in his chair, glaring at the Mind Gem. "These things are a curse," he said, heat stirring under the surface of the words. "We should never have gathered them. Even Xavier would not have been able to pull two Phoenix hosts down out of the sky without it."

"Namor-" Reed started, but then stopped mid-sentence, jaw clenching. "I can't even disagree," he finally said, heavily. "He wouldn't have been a match for them without it. One of them, maybe. Not both."

"We can't change the past or the choices we made," Steve said as firmly as he could. "We need to focus on now, find a way to understand what's happening. Whatever state Braddock's mind is in, maybe Frost can get something more from her." Facing the Shi'ar was one thing. Facing something that could warp the most powerful telepath on the planet into someone who could murder his own students so casually was something else entirely. They _had_ to have more information, and Psylocke was the only one who'd made direct contact with Xavier's mind. _Unless Cable did, too._ Steve frowned. Something to ask about later.

"I caught a flash of something odd on the astral plane in the moment that it happened," Strange said, still not looking entirely focused. "A giant tree, with lights... I have a strong sense that it's profoundly significant."

Tony stiffened. "Cable said something about a tree. Well, projected it. After the Phoenix brought him back." He frowned, and part of Steve was relieved to see him shaking off the exhausted numbness. "And Scott knew what he was talking about, I think. We should get him in here."

"I'm not going to haul the man in here for debriefing until I'm sure the medics have seen to him, at least," Steve said. "We can afford to give him a little time."

* * *

There were so many things he needed to do. People he needed to talk to, some of whom were probably wondering where he'd gone. The medics, he'd prefer to avoid for as long as possible; it was one of the reasons he'd slipped away. He needed to check on Nathan and Hope. He needed to step away from this gurney and do the job that needed doing.

And he couldn't. He simply couldn't. Bracing himself with one hand against the gurney, Scott raised the other to smooth Rachel's hair back from her face.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." His voice was soft, rusty, but sounded almost too loud in the silence of the empty room. "I would have done anything to..." Grief choked off anything else he might have said, and Scott bowed his head, tears trickling from beneath his glasses.

The sheet covered her to the shoulders, hiding the wound. But he'd already seen it, and part of Scott knew the image would be burned into his memory for good.

She had walked into a trap to save him, and Charles, or whatever Charles had become, had murdered her.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said, his voice breaking. "You were... supposed to have a real life, Rachel. Some peace, finally." He knew that nothing would have stopped her from coming when Nathan called. He could even acknowledge that she'd been happy those last few weeks on Utopia, before they'd heard about the Shi'ar threat. But after everything Rachel had been through in her life, to die like this, at the hands of someone who should have been among the first to _help_ her? It seemed so horribly unjust, even by the standards of how the world tended to treat the Summers family.

_She won't be the last to die if you don't snap the fuck out of it, Summers._ Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Scott breathed as deeply as his injured ribs would let him as he struggled for composure. The adrenaline rush had long since faded. He wasn't sure how he was still on his feet, except maybe because he needed to be. You collapsed when the fight was over, and this one wasn't. Nowhere near over, if he was being honest with himself. 

Moving slowly and stiffly, he bent and kissed Rachel's forehead. "I swear I'll do everything I can to protect them," he whispered, as if she could actually hear him. She would have wanted that reassurance. If only he'd had the presence of mind to give it in that last moment, when she'd reached out. "I love you, Ray. Goodbye."

He rearranged the sheet carefully, almost meticulously, ignoring the way something twisted in his chest as he covered her still, pale face. His hands were almost steady, but when he finally turned away, his legs felt rubbery, unsteady, as if they were contemplating whether or not to stop holding him up.

And Logan was standing in the doorway. Scott stopped, his breath catching in his chest and his pulse racing at the bleak, set way Logan was looking at him.

"You've got a number of people looking for you, Slim. Your brother did a shit job of covering for you," Logan said, stepping forward into the room. His eyes shifted from Scott to the sheet-covered form on the gurney, and his jaw tightened, eyes glittering briefly with barely suppressed rage. "T'Challa's with Ororo," he said roughly, his expression back under control when he turned his attention back to Scott.

Scott stared back at him, unable to find his voice for a moment. "Charles killed her," he said. Saying it aloud didn't make it feel any more real.

"I know. Her, Sam, Rachel. Emma said Betsy and Natasha might not wake up." Logan started slowly towards him, and Scott fought the urge to back away, made himself hold his ground. The rage might be gone from Logan's expression, but there was something so... deliberate about the way he was moving. 

"She says she and Nathan put it in Kubark's head to go let you out if the Shi'ar double-crossed them," Logan went on. "When did you know it was Chuck calling the shots up there?"

"Almost right away." His throat was so dry it was almost impossible to force the words out. "He... showed up right after they took me. Told me he had to stop the Phoenix. That... sacrifices had to be made." Logan's eyes narrowed at that, and Scott swallowed painfully and forced himself to continue. "It can't have been him, Logan. He was in my head. Rooting through my memories of Hope. It didn't feel anything like him. I know what Charles's mind feels like..." _Felt like,_ he reminded himself. 

"It's his body in the morgue." Logan was getting closer, and Scott was beginning to wonder if the claws were going to come out after all. He couldn't read the other man at all. Maybe he'd gotten out of the habit. "His body, or a damned good clone. So, possession or something."

Scott took a step back, and his knees promptly tried to buckle. Logan's hand shot out, steadying him. "They're going to want to know there was no other choice, Scott," Logan went on levelly. The eyes locked on his were measuring, not angry. "Was there?"

They. The team. The X-Men. He hadn't even let himself think about that, about what it would be like to stand up in front of his friends, his family, and say _yes, I shot Charles Xavier in the head. More than once, to make sure he was dead._

"Not that I could see. He'd just dropped... half the Blue Area on Alex," Scott said. Logan looked like he was expecting a proper answer to his question. That was fair. He and every other X-Man deserved one. "Nathan was down. Everyone was down. Rachel-" His voice broke again, and he looked away.

"Yeah," Logan said slowly, "you were bait. I imagine you probably knew it the whole time, too." There was a hint of something that sounded almost like sympathy in the words. 

Scott didn't let himself accept it. Not from Logan, not from anyone. "He was pretty clear about it, yeah. I tried. To... take myself out of the equation." His voice came out gravelly, but surprisingly steady. "It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. They'd have just brought me back again."

Logan's jaw clenched again, and Scott went on, his voice growing even rougher as he did, the emotion he was trying so hard to keep in check fighting to surface. "I think there was... some part of Charles still there." He hadn't told anyone this yet, not even Alex. "I heard him a few times. When I crashed the ship he told me to get out, hide in the ruins."

"... you crashed the ship?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Scott ignored the question. "Then I kept dreaming about him," he said tightly. He would have pulled away from Logan's grip if he hadn't needed the support. "He was... despairing. He told me that he'd shown them how to kill the Phoenix. Said that when the time came, I shouldn't hesitate." 

Logan just stared at him, breathing in - testing his scent, Scott realized abruptly. Trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. "Fuck," Logan finally growled, his voice low and rough and bitter with pain. "You said he was in your head. Did he make you do it?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. If he hadn't, I'd have done it anyway." Scott swallowed again, trying not to slump in Logan's grip. "He killed Rachel. He was about to finish killing Nathan, and then come for Hope. I wish... I wish I hadn't had to." The pain in his chest felt like someone had wrapped a hand around his heart and started to squeeze. "But it was just me. I had that damned collar on, and the gun was all I had."

"Enough." Logan gave him a little shake, as if to silence him. "I'll back you up with the others if you need it," he went on brusquely. "Don't think you will, once they know what happened. But this ain't going to be easy. Losing this many people, losing them to _Chuck_ , whatever got into him. I'll follow your lead, but the second you look like you're breaking down on us, all bets are off."

"Fuck you," Scott said, his voice a little stronger. But the poke had been a calculated one; Logan _did_ know him pretty well. "Fair enough, though." He didn't have time to feel any of this, not and do the job. _Lock it away,_ he told himself. He'd done it before.

"Good." Logan released him, but watched him carefully, as if to make sure he was steady. "Now, get your ass to that infirmary before I carry you there. You're not a damned bit of good to anyone when you're dead on your feet."

"I think I can take it from here, Logan." The voice from the doorway was icy, imperious. If looks could have killed, Logan would have been dead on the spot as Emma swept into the room. She paused beside Logan, who actually grunted, his head jerking backwards slightly.

"Do we get the picture now?" Emma murmured aloud, something profoundly savage under the poised, elegant tone.

"Yeah." Logan blinked and uncrossed his eyes, then looked past her at Scott. "Remember what I said, Slim," he said gruffly, and departed without a glance back.

"One of these days," Emma said once he was gone, "I am going to leave him playing with paper dolls on the floor again, and I am going to enjoy it a great deal."

Scott couldn't bring himself to ask what _she'd_ said. He probably didn't want to know. "I'm sorry. For vanishing," he said instead. He glanced back at the gurney, swallowing painfully. "I just... I needed a few minutes with her."

"I know. You should have waited for me, instead of recruiting Alex to help you sneak out. I'm far more efficient at not raising the alarm." Emma approached him just as slowly as Logan had. Scott had to wonder what they were seeing in him that made them act like he was about to break and run at any moment. "To be honest, I wasn't _that_ surprised when I came back to find an empty bed and a sheepish SHIELD medic."

She reached up, her fingertips grazing the line of his jaw lightly. "And to answer your question," she said more quietly, "I can see right into your mind. _Your_ mind, Scott. He did that much damage. Knocked down all those impressive walls." She laid a hand flat against his chest, over his heart, and her expression tightened. 

#I can see everything they did to you,# she went on telepathically. Her presence was as cool as ever, but right now that made it... soothing. Like a cool cloth against feverish skin. #Logan's not wrong about the infirmary. You _do_ need to be in a bed.#

_Nathan?_ he thought back at her, resisting the urge to let go, to let her lead him back to that bed without another word. He needed the rest, he knew, but he just had to be sure that his son was stable, if not well.

#Unconscious still. Hope's with him.# She flashed him the image of Nathan, glowing even in his unconscious state, and Hope sitting beside his bed, holding onto his hand as if the contact between them could serve as a lifeline. #I expect he'll be back with us soon. The Phoenix is repairing the damage at an impressively terrifying rate.#

"All right." Scott took a deep, unsteady breath, letting his eyes close for a moment. "The medics," he said finally, surrendering to the inevitable, "and a few hours of sleep. No more. Just enough to keep me functional." There was so much he had to do. They needed a strategy, and there were things he'd seen during his time with the Shi'ar that had to be taken into account. 

"Oh, of course." Emma's voice was soft. On another day, it might have been mocking, too, but somehow that edge just wasn't there. "The bare minimum, you have my word. Can't have the indispensable man lounging about eating grapes."

Scott let him lead her away, out of the room. The simple act of walking back to the infirmary seemed to sap what was left of his energy, and by the time they reached their destination, he was leaning heavily on Emma, barely staying on his feet. Other hands were there to help get him on a bed – SHIELD medics, he supposed. One of them sounded agitated, but Scott couldn't make out what he was saying over the noise of the medical equipment around him. 

Then they were hooking him up to something – he wasn't sure what. Not one of the Shi'ar torture devices, at least. He doubted they had any of those around here.

Emma never left his side, _that_ much he knew. She stood there, a cool hand stroking through his hair in a soothing, repetitive motion. A very distant part of him realized there was probably a correlation between that and the protective haze shrouding his thoughts.

#Sorry, darling. But I'll be defining the bare minimum this time.# Her voice was very soft, almost a whisper. #Ilyana is going to fetch Josh. You're right, Scott. We need you functional, and... you're more hurt than you think you are.#

* * *

He couldn't see what he was fighting. It was too dark, wherever he was. Flashes of eerie blue light kept appearing in his peripheral vision, but no matter how hard he twisted and thrashed, he couldn't seem to face it, to find its source. The darkness wasn't all of a piece, either. It was... _bees_ , Nathan thought dimly, thousands and thousand of black bees swarming him. Their stings were like icy daggers, coming from every direction at once. Trying to overwhelm him. To consume him. 

And something else was watching, waiting. Something massive and cold and purposeful – and _wrong_ , Nathan thought furiously, fighting through the pain. He could feel the wrongness of it. Its arrogance, thinking it could force itself on reality, push the universe into conforming to its wishes. _Breaking_ things, when the universe wouldn't cooperate. 

Things? People. Whole worlds. _My people. My world._ That was why it had dragged him here. It meant to stop him, break him, because he was outside its design. A threat to its goals. That much was easy to see. What he was facing _was_ a consciousness, after all, and he was inside it. If it wasn't attacking him, distracting him, its intentions would have been an open book. 

Maybe it was time to stop letting himself be distracted. Instead of trying to fight through the pain, Nathan let himself sink into it, remembering that he knew how _not_ to feel it, if he tried. Rachel had taught him that. 

Rachel. A different sort of pain intruded on his awareness, and the fire beating at the walls of his mind grew even more ferocious, the shriek of the Phoenix building within him like a battle cry. Angry and reckless, he opened himself to it, let it blaze through him. 

In an instant, the swarm was burning away, screaming as it disintegrated on the light. So much light, like he was at the center of a nova. 

_No. I_ am _the nova._

Darkness all around him still, but now there was fire in the darkness, and that massive presence was howling in defiance. Feeble defiance, Nathan thought vindictively. It didn't want to fight on its own ground? That was too flonqing bad. When you chose the battlefield, you didn't get to retreat because things weren't going as well as you'd thought they should. 

He thrashed free of the remnants of the swarm and dove, the firebird blazing in the dark as it descended towards the tree. That was the source of the light, of course, that vile, skeletal thing lit by all its glowing pods and the crawling black creatures tending them. The source of the light and the center of all of this. 

It had to burn.

He was almost there when the tug at his mind came, a desperate plea echoing down from an unimaginable distance. Even all but lost in the Phoenix's awareness of the enemy below them, Nathan knew at once who it was. How much she needed him. 

A part of him that was only Nathan, only Hope's father, realized that she had been calling him for some time now. He'd been too wrapped up in the fight to hear her. For a moment he hesitated, torn between the urge to continue the fight and the need to respond, but then the tug came again, the sense of despair underlying it only increasing. She was afraid, he thought. 

The darkness wasn't going anywhere, he thought grimly, and fought his way upwards. 

Surfacing, his first thought was that the room was on fire. But it was only the firebird, Nathan thought, wrestling with a strange grogginess as he tried to focus. His chest ached, his lungs burning as if they hadn't been working properly until just now. 

It made him uncertain, suddenly. What had that been, that battle in the dark? A dream? It had _felt_ real...

The hand gripping his tightened, and he looked up at Hope. Surrounded by a nimbus of fire of her own, she gazed down at him, her expression crumpling as tears welled up in her eyes. 

#I thought you were leaving me.#

#I think I nearly did.# Sitting up slowly, Nathan managed to get his arms around her as Hope launched himself at him, projecting relief and anguish so strong that even the non-sensitives in the building would be feeling the echo of it. The firebird collapsed inward, taking the pain in his chest with it, but the fiery glow remained around both of them, as if it were shielding them. The Phoenix was seething with protective rage at the back of his mind, making a struggle to keep thinking clearly when it was rekindling his own anger so effectively. 

_Rachel._

#She's gone.# Hope's mental voice shook, and he saw the memory in her mind of Piotr carrying Rachel's still body through one of Ilyana's stepping disks. #I couldn't... I couldn't do anything!# Her grip on him only tightened, as if he was the last solid thing in the world for her. It wasn't a fanciful thought; it was there in her mind, passing to him as easily as if she had spoken it aloud. 

The sudden tidal wave of grief didn't undermine his anger; it only threw more fuel on the fire. #I know. He did too much damage. She was... she was gone, too fast.# The memories of the fight on the moon flowed between them. Xavier and the sword. Xavier and the blue, glowing... _thing_. What had it been? 

Nathan opened his mind wide and had the answer to his question in moments. With the Phoenix burning so strongly in him, every mind in SHIELD headquarters _was_ an open book.

When he had absorbed the information fully, the urge to reach out and just... _disassemble_ Stark, Rogers, and the other guardians of the Infinity Gems down to their component atoms was almost impossible to resist. Something close to a snarl escaped Nathan as he remembered the crushing grip that had brought him crashing to the surface of the moon. 

The Mind Gem. _That_ was why Xavier had been so strong. How could they have armed the most powerful telepath in the world with something that made him even stronger, knowing his history of instability? Onslaught had nearly _killed_ the Avengers and the Fantastic Four. _And me, once upon a time..._

'What is, is' was cold comfort at times like this. #We have work to do,# he told Hope, doing all he could to channel the anger into purpose. There was no suppressing it, no turning the tide. But he could use it. He felt the Phoenix's fierce approval at the thought.

Hope nodded jerkily and straightened – although she didn't let go of him entirely, and he made a point of not pulling away. The physical contact was helping steady her, he could feel it. #There are people we can help,# she sent. #Maybe?# She shared images of Betsy Braddock and Natasha Romanova, both still and pale as they laid in infirmary beds. 

Reaching out to them himself, Nathan sensed the profound psionic damage. Their minds were full of wreckage, bleeding from wounds casually wreaked by Xavier as he manipulated them like the pawns they had been. 

#Yes. We'll do that.# Foley had already seen to Scott, he realized as his awareness reached further and took in both his father's sleeping thoughts and the mind of the medic watching over him. A closer look at Scott's memories of the last several days made the Phoenix's fire burn more coldly. 

The Shi'ar would pay for all of it. Dearly, and at length. But right now, it was time to do what could be done for the other survivors.

Sliding off the bed, he straightened, all trace of grogginess gone. A moment's concentration rearranged the molecules of his hospital gown into proper clothes. So easy; all he had to do was think it. All the power he could need was right at his fingertips, and everything was impossibly sharp and bright.

He didn't feel like he was slipping anymore. He wondered if it was because he'd finally let go.

There was a medic approaching down the hall to check on them; Nathan took Hope's hand and took them to Braddock's room via what he might once have called a bodyslide. 

#I wasn't sure how to fix this,# Hope sent as they materialized beside Betsy's bed. Her tone was still uncertain, but she seemed steadier, more confident. #Emma told me I might be able to help her, but that I shouldn't try to do it by myself.# 

Braddock might simply have been sleeping, unless you looked at her mind and saw the broken glass that had once been elegant, ordered patterns of thought. #Frost was right,# Nathan sent. #You and I can do it together. I'll show you.# 

It took only a moment. His memory of what Braddock's mind _should_ look like was perfect, and as he joined his mind more closely to Hope's, the Phoenix's power pouring through both of them, reassembling it was easy. 

They rebuilt her mind from the inside out. The core of Elizabeth Braddock was still there, if battered into catatonia, and the fragments could be reassembled like a giant puzzle, pieces sliding into place with blinding speed and knitting together with threads of flame. A telepathic mind, even when it was broken, _wanted_ to be intact. All they had to do was pull her back together and give her the strength to hold on...

A gasping scream escaped Betsy as she sat bolt upright in bed, her psionic butterfly-signature flaring around her head as her telepathic presence stabilized. The monitors were screaming alarms, and Nathan laid a hand on her shoulder to steady her. 

#Elizabeth. You're all right.# She looked up at him, eyes wide and shocked, and didn't resist as he pushed her gently back against the bed. #Rest. Someone will be here to check you over in a moment.# He could sense medical staff coming running already. 

#They're probably going to ask us questions,# Hope sent. She seemed dazed by what they'd just accomplished, but there was no strain, no sense of fatigue in her thoughts. Only exultation, joy at having been able to do something, fix _something_.

She was meant for this, Nathan reflected. For healing, not killing. #I don't feel like answering them,# he sent back mildly. #Let's see to Natasha.# He waited only for her agreement before he took them to Romanova's room next. 

It was more challenging this time; he didn't know the Avenger as well, and she was no psi. Her mental patterns, though complex, weren't as clearly defined as Braddock's. Still, he _had_ been in contact with her mind on the way to the moon, and all he really needed was the image of her thoughts as they had been. Hope threw all her strength into helping him, and together, they put her back together as well. Her mind had been slightly less damaged than Braddock's, which helped. 

Still, it took long enough that by the time they finished, Hank McCoy was standing in the doorway, watching them in obvious agitation. He wanted to intervene, Nathan sensed, but an anxious litany of _can't interrupt them, I don't dare, this may be a miracle in the working_ was still running through his mind, over and over. There were other members of the medical staff crowding behind McCoy, trying to see into the room; McCoy was clearly preventing them from coming in, which was a point in his favor, Nathan reflected dispassionately. 

"Nathan," Hank said, sounding edgy but relieved. "Can you tell me exactly what you're doing? Please?"

#Fixing her,# Nathan sent, as Romanova opened her eyes, blinking in disorientation at the ceiling. #Now. If the SHIELD agents currently converging on the infirmary will behave themselves, Hope and I may consider _walking_ to see Rogers and the others.#


	23. What The Thunder Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Earth, the X-Men and the Avengers get very bad news on two fronts. The endgame is coming, and some of the players are moving in the darkness where they can't be seen.

He knew New York as well as any of the X-Men who'd lived at the mansion for years. But although he knew he was standing on a rooftop somewhere in Manhattan, Scott couldn't determine his location more precisely than that. The landscape of the city kept shifting around him, the Empire State Building on his left one moment and his right the next. After a while he stopped trying to orient himself and just stared out at the lights. Dreams didn't have to make sense. 

_And I am definitely dreaming._ Out over the water - the only direction in which the city's borders seemed to have any definition at all - the world was blacker than black. Scott stared into the darkness, unable to shake the powerful feeling that he should be seeing _something_ out there. Then again, didn't he always feel that way? As carefully as he tried to plan, as hard as he tried to consider all the variables, his blind spots always wound up costing so much. 

He never paid the price himself, of course. Like Hank had pointed out all those months ago, it was always someone else who suffered for his decisions. It hardly seemed fair. He'd always been prepared to be the one who paid. There'd been times he'd _wanted_ to be, so much. He would have died a dozen times over to save Rachel, or Ororo and Sam, or any of the people they'd lost on Utopia. And yet he never seemed to get that option. 

"The Shi'ar killed you a few too many times this week, I think," Jean sighed from beside him. "You're too comfortable with the idea. Trust me, the moment of heroic self-sacrifice is _not_ all it's cracked up to be."

Scott could hear the sorrow underlying the words. He glanced down at her, frowning as he took in her strangely dimmed presence, as if grief had dulled colors that should have been as bright as the sun. Why was she grieving? She shouldn't be, not unless...

"She's not with you. Rachel." His voice cracked, and it felt like someone was reaching in and tearing his heart from his chest. It had been his only consolation, the belief that the Phoenix would have gathered her to itself, just like it had with Jean. That there would be a part of his daughter that went on for as long as the universe itself did. 

Jean's head bowed, hair falling forward to hide her face. "She should be," she murmured almost brokenly, "but she's not. She's..."

_Lost._ Scott swallowed past the tightness in his throat, looking back at the lights of what wasn't New York City and ignoring the way they blurred in his vision. 

"Charles told me he'd shown them how to kill the Phoenix." Only an act of will kept his voice steady. "It didn't sink in at the time, but he didn't say anything about hosts. He said they could kill the Phoenix itself. Kill _you_. So if he attacked the hosts, that means they're the key, doesn't it?"

She looked up at him, and he forced himself not to flinch at the sheer _weight_ of the presence looking out at him from behind those familiar eyes. "Hope, Rachel, Nathan," he continued doggedly. "Because they're _not_ just hosts. They're part of you. They're-"

"Our children." Jean's voice was still soft, but there was an echo of thunder in the words. Sparks flashed in her hair, too, and light was shining from beneath her skin. "Hosts come and go, Scott. Even someone completely unsuitable could hold a fragment of our power for a time. But the children are different. The spark that gave them life is part of our fire. Their energy is our energy. Which means the enemy can reach us through them."

"But why wouldn't you warn them?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself, or even try to moderate his tone. His common sense pointed out that he probably needed to do the latter before he got the equivalent of a cosmic slap upside the head, and Scott sucked in a sharp breath, making himself look away again, to buy himself a moment. 

Because the answer to his own question was obvious. "You didn't know." If she had, she would have warned them. Somehow, he was absolutely certain of that. There was too much love in that vast presence. She _couldn't_ have withheld the information. 

"I couldn't see what was coming. Not clearly. I knew enough to warn Hope to stay on Earth, but I didn't see Charles, or what was using him. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" She sounded like Jean again, the thunder gone and only the grief remaining. "Absurd for us to have such blind spots, when we've been here since the beginning of the universe. But Earth has changed us in ways I can't even begin to explain. Part of that is... the part of me that's Jean. You. The children. I'm wrapped up in humanity in a way I've never been with any other species."

"And the rest of it?"

"Wanda Maximoff." The familiar voice was suddenly, viciously bitter. "The mess she made. Doing what I've had to do to start fixing it has trapped me. Made me smaller than I should be. When your horizons narrow, you miss things. Sometimes important things."

She stepped closer, an impossibly warm hand coming down on his arm. "Look," she said, and Scott's attention was drawn back to the blackness over the water. "Do you see them? I do, but I can't see their faces. They're hidden from me."

There were two figures out there in the dark, hovering. He could feel the danger surrounding them, the silent threat, as if the darkness was some huge black cloud of pure malice. 

"Order in its purest and most malevolent form," Scott said under his breath, remembering Charles's words from the dream with sudden, perfect clarity. "You're their antithesis, he said."

"It's hard to see your own shadow. They want to stop me, Scott, and they've chosen their tools very carefully so far. They used Charles _first_. What do you think that means?"

The strategist in him stirred and answered her. "That their strongest is yet to come." Scott stared flatly at the faceless figures. They weren't revealing themselves to him, either. "I need to wake up, don't I? There's a lot to do."

"Yes. I'm coming, Scott. As far as I can, but I don't know if I'll be in time. And I think one of them may already be there."

He wanted to ask her if there was something, anything more she could give him. But then the city and the lights were gone, and he was opening his eyes in the SHIELD infirmary. His whole body ached and his vision blurred, but whatever Josh had done while he'd been out, he felt incalculably better than he had. Enough to be functional, and that was all that was important. 

Scott sat up slowly, wincing as the room seemed to spin around him, and then frowned down at the IV as he tried to sort out how best to remove it. He was just fuzzy-headed enough not to hear the footsteps coming down the hall outside until Hank was standing in the doorway, watching him. 

"I imagine you think you're checking yourself out." There was a strained sort of humor about the words, as if Hank was trying very hard to keep things light but knew he was failing. 

Scott's breath caught in his chest, and he swallowed past a throat that felt like sandpaper. It would have been nice to have a few minutes to get his bearings before the first of these confrontations happened. _Too bad. It's here. Time to face it._ He forced himself to meet his old friend's eyes, not at all sure what he'd see there. 

But Hank looked exhausted and battered, not angry, and his gaze dropped almost as soon as Scott made eye contact. He came over to the bed, one large clawed hand closing gently over Scott's wrist to take his pulse. 

"You chose a good time to return to the land of the living," Hank said quietly, his attention on his watch. "Nathan's being... difficult. One can't blame him, I suppose, but it's not productive. At the strategy session this morning, he felt it necessary to reveal to all assembled the details of that foolish agreement Logan made with Hope. It took us ten minutes to convince Namor to stop shouting, and the table was a total loss. I hadn't realized his Majesty had grown so fond of Hope."

"I'll talk to him. Nathan, I mean." Emma could handle Namor if he still needed handling; she was far more likely to get results. Scott grimaced as his voice came out sounding like he had a bad case of laryngitis, and he swallowed again, more painfully, as Hank continued to avoid his eyes. "Did Logan tell you..."

"What you told him? Yes," Hank murmured, turning his attention to the IV. "We all heard Alex's account as well."

The words were neutral, almost cool. Scott's heart sank. It didn't change anything, he told himself, trying to banish the sick feeling. He'd know this would happen. Expected it. Regardless of the circumstances, he had killed Charles Xavier. There was so much Hank hated him for already. Adding this just put the seal on things. 

"There's... more." Scott's voice shook, despite his best attempt to keep it steady. "I should... I need to debrief properly. Emma should go through my memories, make sure I'm not overlooking details that might be important." Trauma had a way of blurring things. They couldn't afford that right now. All of his interaction with Charles on the warbird needed to be examined very carefully. 

Hank removed the IV and secured a piece of gauze over the site, taping it down. "I'd agree," he said, his cool tone not altering. "You do need to elaborate on a few points. Just for the sake of being very clear about what happened. For instance," and Scott found himself on the receiving end of the sort of piercing gaze that never meant anything good when it came from Hank McCoy, "Logan implied that you'd tried to kill yourself up there."

Scott froze. Hank set the tape aside without breaking eye contact for a moment. "Possibly more than once," he continued evenly. "I am assuming that was simply Logan being overdramatic, as is his way?"

Hank had always been hard to read. His secondary mutation had made it even more difficult to pick up on nuances in his expression. Narrowed eyes and twitching ears meant that he was repressing some sort of strong emotion, but it could have been anything. The obvious trick question wasn't shedding any light on the matter, either. 

"It seemed like the best option at the time," Scott muttered finally, resigning himself to an honest answer. Sometimes you had to go ahead and step on the landmine. He still couldn't help flinching as Hank's hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing forcefully enough to make him wince. 

"It wasn't." Hank's voice was harsher, almost a growl now. "I had to watch you do that once, Scott Summers, and once was more than enough for one lifetime. Your willingness to resort to suicide is just one of the many ways in which you are _not_ the tactician you like to think yourself."

Scott's eyes stung and he looked down, struggling to keep his expression composed. Strange. Part of him _had_ expected Hank to applaud a suicide play on his part. _That says a lot more about you than it does about him, Summers._

"Sorry, Hank." His throat was impossibly tight, and he barely managed to force out the words. "But I'm going to regret not blowing up that ship with all hands every day for the rest of my life." However long that wound up being. "If I'd managed to remove the bait, there'd have been no trap."

"Or it would have been sprung in a different way, at a different time. What happened is not your fault, do you understand me?" Hank let go of him and rubbed at his eyes, turning away to pour a glass of water. 

"The Shi'ar may have revived you," he said as he handed the glass to Scott, "but without Joshua's intervention there would have been a great deal of permanent damage. I'm not certain if you would have survived in the long term. _Charles_ did that to you." He said it as if he still couldn't believe it, if the simple act of voicing the words hurt. "He tortured you for days. He killed Ororo and Sam as if they were... nothing to him. Just to create an opening for him to murder Rachel and nearly Nathan as well."

Hank's voice broke and he looked down, although not before Scott caught a glimpse of the suspicious brightness in his eyes. "I don't know if I'm still in shock, Scott, because I can't even begin to mourn him. So if you're looking for someone to blame you, you'll have to look elsewhere. I'm just too relieved that we didn't lose you, too."

Scott made himself take a sip of water. It was cold, fresh, and possibly the best thing he'd ever tasted. "It wasn't Charles." His voice still sounded strained and tight, and he told himself that he didn't deserve to take too much comfort from what Hank had just said. It wasn't as if it changed anything. "Something else was in control."

"I know." Hank rubbed at his eyes again, and his voice was pained and weary as he went on. "It may take telling myself that for a good long while before I can... banish the memories, however." He put a hand on Scott's shoulder again, squeezing more gently this time. "I've... been very hard on you lately, about your choices. I won't say I was wrong-"

"You weren't."

"-but I'm done berating you about the past. You've done your best since the Shi'ar arrived, Scott. If Charles was... possessed, the only person nominally on our side who bears any of the blame for what's gone wrong is Abigail."

Their eyes met, and Scott saw Hank make the connection in the same instant he did. "Brand," Scott said slowly. "Did Rogers have someone scan her? To make sure she _was_ acting of her own accord?"

The sudden hope in Hank's eyes was almost painful to see. "No. It wasn't deemed necessary, not when she confessed everything. And she was so... totally unrepentant about it."

"So was Charles, on the surface. He told me sacrifices had to be made." Scott ignored the sudden, painful knot in his chest as he remembered watching Phillip and Deborah's house burn. "But while I was unconscious, he told me not to hesitate when the time came to.. to fight back. He _wanted_ me to stop him." And he'd have to live with that, with knowing that Charles had been in there somewhere and he'd killed him anyway. 

"Would Emma take a look if you asked her?" Hank said, sounding almost dazed. "If there's any chance Abby was being compelled..."

Scott tugged the sheets aside, taking a deep breath as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The dizziness lasted a little longer than he would have liked. "I hope I'm right, Hank," he muttered, thinking of those two faceless figures. If Brand was one of them, and could be... fixed, or at least continue to be safely contained, that would be the first thing that had gone really _right_ for weeks. "I really do."

* * *

A few days ago, Steve would have been perfectly content never to have spoken to Abigail Brand again. He had of course planned to be first in line to give evidence against her at her trial, but in the interim he had opted to leave her interrogation in the hands of SHIELD's counterintelligence division. They had needed to make sure that no other SWORD officers were working with the Shi'ar, but Steve had known that he would not have been capable of keeping his temper in check if he had taken a personal role in questioning her. She was too sharp a reminder of how badly he'd failed, of the high cost of his broken promise to help protect Utopia.

But then Hank had raised the possibility that she hadn't collaborated with the Shi'ar by choice. That Xavier, or whatever had been possessing him, had used his telepathy or the Mind Gem to compel her to cooperate. It had been too plausible a theory to dismiss out of hand. So Steve had assigned Psi Division to investigate, and made a point of asking Emma Frost to sit in as a representative of the X-Men. 

It had taken several hours of deep scanning, but the telepaths had confirmed Hank's theory. They had even managed to retrieve the suppressed memory of Brand's meeting with Xavier so that they could present Steve - and Brand herself - with the evidence. It had been the most unsettled he'd ever seen the woman, and the force of her reaction had been as convincing as the telepathic analysis. 

He'd had the charges dropped, of course. She had unquestionably been under duress, despite Frost's assessment of the situation. _She hardly needed a push,_ Emma had observed coldly. _She had half-convinced herself it was the right course of action already._

Needless to say, Frost had _not_ been pleased when he'd restored Brand to active duty. He certainly hadn't done Brand herself any favors by doing so; to say that she was being looked at with suspicion would be the understatement of the year. 

But if she could be trusted (and Psi Division was keeping a close eye on her for the time being to make sure of it), then they needed her; it was that simple. As director of SWORD, Brand possessed an extensive network of interstellar agents, many placed in the Imperium itself. Most of the senior SWORD analysts who'd been familiar with individual agents had died in the destruction of the Peak. They had needed information from inside the Imperium so badly. 

And she'd been able to provide it with commendable speed, although the news was anything but good. Steve watched the others settle into their chairs, and only when the conference room was quiet again did he nod at Brand to begin the briefing. 

"I've received word from SWORD's agents on Chandilar," she said from her seat beside Hank. Her usual brusque facade was firmly in place, as if the last few weeks had never happened. "Several different agents have checked in, all confirming the same information. Gladiator is mustering his fleet."

The silence around the table took on a different quality, the tension ratcheting up noticeably. Tony snatched up his tablet and started to sketch something out - what exactly it was, Steve couldn't see from this angle. 

"We hoped at first that the muster would be a more protracted process," Brand went on. "The Shi'ar military still hasn't recovered from the war with the Kree, and we were counting on a certain degree of disarray. But our lead time may not be what we hoped. Summers?"

It was Alex she looked to, not Scott. It had been her idea to bring him in on the analysis end of things, although Steve would have suggested it if she hadn't. Alex's recent experience in the Imperium and his personal familiarity with the major players made him too important a resource to overlook. 

Alex nodded and took the opening. "Most of the stargates are still active," he said, his voice flat, "and Gladiator's a military man himself. I imagine he knows exactly which systems he can safely strip of their mobile defenses without making them look too tempting to the neighbors. Add to that the fact that there _are_ ways to get around the mass restrictions on the stargates if you're in a sufficient hurry, and we could be looking at less than two weeks before the fleet reaches us."

"Oh dear," Hank murmured almost inaudibly. "That's _not_ a lot of lead time."

"So let's make the most of it," Tony observed, not looking up from his tablet. "I'll do what I can. Orbital mines are the first thing that come to mind. But we can't just guard the doorstep, either."

"We're going to need whatever you can come up with," Steve said quietly. Tony nodded and kept sketching rapidly. "Negotiation isn't going to be an option, I'm afraid. Not even as a delaying tactic. SWORD's agents gave us a very worrisome picture of the situation on the ground on Chandilar. The Shi'ar government has announced to the general population that multiple Phoenix hosts had been sighted on Earth. They're saying that the ships they sent to investigate were attacked unprovoked, and that the Phoenix is on Earth to restore mutants for the sole purpose of re-establishing Earth as a threat to the Imperium."

"He'd said he'd seen where this leads." That was Scott, and Steve looked sharply at him as he caught the numb tone in his voice. "Xavier. When he first showed up on the warbird. I challenged him on not being a precog, and he said he wasn't the source of what he'd seen." He straightened in his chair, his voice growing more rough as he went on. "They're working on someone else's vision of a possible future, that much is obvious."

Emma laid a hand on his arm. "It's nonsense, of course," she said crisply. "A bizarre interpretation of some incompetent precognitive's babblings. Even if mutantkind was restored tomorrow, we have far more important things to do than pick a fight with the Shi'ar."

"Still, you can see why they might not believe that," Brand said in a neutral tone. "Vulcan is hardly ancient history."

Steve saw both Scott and Alex wince, and stepped in before the conversation could go any further in that direction. "I only brought it up to emphasize what we're dealing with here," he said firmly. Whatever was driving the Shi'ar, he was more concerned with the consequences of that belief. "From what I understand, there's a near-religious aspect to their fear of the Phoenix. If that's become tangled up with some sort of long-term political strategy, whether it's precognitively inspired or not, it limits _our_ strategic choices."

"No beating up on them just enough to make them go away, in other words. Not if they're whipping the troops up into a frenzy," Logan growled. But he was eyeing Nathan, who had been noticeably silent so far, and Steve could almost see him bristling with suspicion. "So are the Shi'ar right about the Phoenix?" he said abruptly. "Does it have something long-term up its sleeve for us once it's reversed M-Day?"

Steve found himself stifling the wholly inappropriate yet near-overwhelming urge to throw a chair at Logan for the challenge in his tone. This ongoing... _issue_ between Logan and Nathan had to be resolved, he thought darkly, and resolved soon. Otherwise it was just going to keep causing trouble. Probably at the worst possible moment.

"I think we should stay focused," he said, intending to redirect the conversation again, but Nathan shook his head sharply.

"No. It's a fair question. All good propaganda has a piece of truth to it," he said finally, his gray eyes starting to glow and his voice sounding subtly altered, the hint of thunder as clear a sign as any that he wasn't speaking entirely as himself. "The truth is that mutants have a purpose in humanity's development. Not just from the Celestial perspective, but in the nearer term as well. We _are_ the next step in human evolution. That's not just a catchphrase for those with delusions of grandeur."

A bark of laughter escaped Logan. "That ain't an answer, Summers," he said, almost dismissively.

"You're right. It's not," Nathan said, giving him a more ominous look. The soft golden glow around him wasn't quite taking the shape of flames, but it was growing brighter. "Wrap that tiny mind of yours around this, then. I have some experience with trying to reshape the future. The one thing I learned is that when you do that, you have to be very clear on the difference between a _possible_ threat and an _inevitable_ one. Otherwise, all you do is bring about a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Nathan. Calm down. No one thinks you're hiding anything." Scott's voice was much steadier than it had been. Nathan sucked in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing, but the glow around him softened again and he stopped glaring at Logan. 

It wasn't the first time Steve had seen that sort of silent exchange between them in the last few days. Seeing it again made him very glad that Scott had made it out of that mess on the moon. He definitely had a steadying influence.

"You said that delaying tactics weren't going to work," Scott went on, his attention shifting back to Steve. "But that's what we need to do. Not with negotiation, obviously." A faint, strained smile with no humor in it at all tugged at his lips. "That card's been played out. But this _is_ a race. Gladiator's goal is to stop Hope before she does what she'd meant to do. It means he's got to beat the firebird here, or everything he's done is for nothing. Even if he _does_ get here before it does..." His attention went back to his son. "Well, he has a very significant obstacle standing in his way."

"If you want me to intercept them further out into our system," Nathan said, his voice low, "I can. Jupiter orbit would be ideal. Means I can use its gravity well." Steve blinked as images floated through his mind, images of Shi'ar ships being flung into the gas giant like discarded toys. He shook his head to clear it, and saw the others at the table doing the same. "I _want_ to do it," Nathan went on more forcefully, the thunder echoing in his voice again. "The Shi'ar have a lot to answer for. But Hope stays on Earth. That's not negotiable."

Fortunately, Steve wasn't about to argue the point. "Do you think you can get all of them?" he asked the Phoenix's host quietly. He was fairly sure he knew the answer, but it needed to be asked.

Nathan stared back at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Whatever happens, I can do heavy damage, probably to the majority of their ships. But if they start flinging black holes around again, I'll have my hands full. Even if these shadows _don't_ show up."

"They will," Scott said more softly. "One's already here, remember?"

"We have our psis and other specialists working on that," Steve said with a nod to Emma and Nathan. They were spearheading the effort, them and Strange on the magical side of things. "Right now we've got to make preparations for the very significant threat we can _all_ see coming. Which means getting ready to defend the planet if the fight comes groundside."

It was a tall order, to put it mildly, but he didn't see any other option. Certain elements in the government would probably go back to demanding that Hope and Cable be handed over the Shi'ar once they heard Brand's news. But even if that had been remotely possible, that didn't change the reality that the Phoenix firebird itself was on its way to Earth. There was no way to stop it, or even divert it. Steve had been there when Nathan had seen the specs for Tony's Phoenix gun. 

Nathan had studied them for an instant - and then laughed, almost incredulously. _I can't believe you ever thought this would work,_ he'd said to Tony. _You can't stop it. Not with a machine._

Whoever this shadowy enemy was, they were the ones who knew how to kill the Phoenix, and they were already coming for Hope and Cable to use them to do it. The Sol system was going to be a battlefield, one way or the other.

"So let's start looking at options, people," Steve said with more confidence than he really felt as he called up the holographic display. "SHIELD and other conventional forces have their roles to play, but the Avengers and the X-Men are the wild cards. Let's figure out a way to use that to our advantage."


	24. Waves That Beat On Heaven's Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Scott confront the limitations of their strategy, while Nathan faces the likelihood that when he leaves Earth to confront the Shi'ar fleet he will never see his daughter again and Logan finally forces a confrontation over the matter of his and Hope's 'agreement'. Meanwhile, the mutant messiah starts to fulfill her destiny.

More details had come in from the SWORD agents in the Imperium, faster than they'd dared to hope it might. Important details, like the size and composition of the Shi'ar fleet and estimates on the number of ground troops they might be carrying. Even some indication of how much of the Imperial Guard Gladiator had committed to his expeditionary force. It was all data, all useful, and although Scott was far from at ease in Avengers Tower, he had to admit that their gear for planning and simulating tactical scenarios was top-notch. Stark's work, no doubt.

The holographic projection he was watching now showed a bird's eye view of a pitched battle between Shi'ar forces, the X-Men, and the Avengers – in Alaska. There was a small SHIELD facility on the Chukchi Sea, well away from any population centers. Since the Shi'ar would be able to find Hope or Nathan wherever on Earth they were – there was no point in even trying to disguise the Phoenix's power signature – it only made sense to try and shift the likely battle to somewhere that they could cut down on collateral damage. 

The argument had been raised that it might be a futile effort, that the Shi'ar might choose to attack major population centers anyway. They had certainly intended to use the attack on New York as leverage. Certainly, if too much of their fleet survived what Nathan was planning, orbital bombardment was all too likely. Some of the Avengers had worried about putting all their eggs in one basket with the shift to Alaska, but Scott had pointed out that they had access to more than one teleporter and hence a high degree of flexibility when it came to redeployment. There was even the option of using Magik or Pixie to jump Hope from SHIELD facility to SHIELD facility if their idea to mousetrap the Shi'ar ground troops didn't work, although in Scott's opinion that was a last resort. To him, it ran the risk of provoking the Shi'ar into doing deliberate collateral damage to get them to stand and fight.

The problem was, plan A didn't look all that promising when it came down to it either. In the simulation, the last of the combined X-Men/Avengers team went down, and Hope promptly went nuclear. The projection flashed blinding white and then vanished, displaying a list of casualty figures in crimson. 

Scott stared at them bleakly. The battle had lasted longer this time, but whenever he ran this without Nathan – and like it or not, the chances that Nathan would be delayed in returning to Earth or that he wouldn't make it back at all were high – it ended the same way. They failed, and Hope did the only thing she could. 

And died. Saving Earth, but not the mutant race. 

As consolation prizes went, that wasn't too bad. But they had to do better. As Scott called up the program to make some more changes to the simulation, the door slid aside almost soundlessly and Steve stepped in, his faintly puzzled look turning to understanding as he saw Scott sitting at the console. 

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be up," he said, coming over to take a chair beside Scott's. "Running more projections?"

"Figured it couldn't hurt," Scott said quietly, trying not to stiffen in his chair too noticeably as Steve got that close. He couldn't seem to shake the jumpiness, although he supposed that was fairly minimal as post-traumatic responses went. Manageable, in any case. "The right combination of skills and power sets is going to buy us more time, if we can find it." He forced himself to smile, although it was a halting, crooked expression. "I wonder if the lead time isn't a mixed blessing in some ways. Gives us more time to think than is necessarily good for us."

It was a weak joke at best – both he and Steve would have sold their souls for even a week longer to prepare, Scott knew – but Steve still smiled at it, if only briefly. "Funny you should say that. I feel obligated to point out that it's three in the morning. Even people who aren't recovering should be at least trying to get some rest."

Scott tried not to sigh. "Can't sleep," he admitted, his voice low. Steve had a point; he _wasn't_ back to full fighting form. Josh's powers had their limits, even on the physical level. Everything ached, and the less said about how easily he got winded in a simple training exercise, the better. 

Still, there wasn't much to do beside plan and drill, and occasionally help Steve try to hammer home the reality of the situation to various politicians and military men. He _should_ be resting, or at least trying to. It would be the common-sense thing to do given what was coming. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw things that made rest impossible. 

Utopia in flames. Ororo. Sam. Charles. _Rachel._ The dreams were worse than the memories, and the memories were bad enough. 

"There's nothing Emma can do to help?" Steve asked, almost gently. 

"She says she won't. Something about aggravating the damage to my defenses. It's fine," he told Steve, trying not to sound defensive. "If it goes on for too much longer I'll have to try something else. But right now, I'm okay." The look Steve gave him was just dubious enough that Scott couldn't help a snort. "I could point out that it's three in the morning and you're up too."

"I'm a super-soldier, remember? I need less sleep in general," Steve said with a hint of wry humor. "Plus it's easier to have off-the-books meetings in the middle of the night when fewer people are likely to notice Captain American wandering around the Pentagon."

"Twisting more arms?" The President had (reluctantly, by all accounts) bowed to the inevitable; the Phoenix was here, the Shi'ar were coming, and there were no more deals to be made. Scott wouldn't have wagered a cent on the likelihood that he would have been far less accommodating if the American military had stood a snowball's chance in hell against Nathan or Hope. 

Not all of those in positions of political or military authority here in the States had been as rational, and some of what was going on elsewhere was downright alarming. A coalition of the willing (or at least of the resigned) seemed to be forming, but there were still ripples of tension that needed to be soothed. _Or stomped on._

"One or two," Steve said, sounding weary. "But until the President decides otherwise, I still have the authority to do so."

"Have you told him about the Infinity Gems?" He shouldn't bring that back up. He really shouldn't. But it was a sore spot, no matter how many times he told himself to move on for the good of the task at hand. If Charles hadn't had the Mind Gem, he might not have been... co-opted in the first place. His access to that level of power had to have made him an even more attractive tool for whatever forces had turned him into the Praetor. Scott usually didn't play 'what-if', but this time he couldn't help it. 

And now they'd drawn Emma into it as well. Presuming they survived the next couple of weeks, the danger the Gems posed was going to be a reality for the two of them for the foreseeable future. Under the circumstances, Scott thought he was allowed to harp on it just a little. 

Steve watched him in silence for a moment, looking even more tired. "No. I didn't see the point. We can't use them. What happened on the Moon just reinforces that."

"Emma told me what you all decided." It was a nice way of phrasing 'Emma told you how things were going to be from here on out'. Scott wished he'd been a fly on the wall at that meeting. But she'd gotten them to agree to regular telepathic 'check-in' scans, to ensure that none of the Gem holders were under outside influence or in a state of mind that might induce them to do something rash. Emma herself would be submitting to the same from Betsy and selected telepaths from SHIELD's Psi Division.

They should have had something like that in place to start with, of course, even if that meant letting a few more people in on the secret. But given the initial make-up of the group that had tracked down the Gems, Scott supposed he could understand why they might have assumed they could handle it without taking such precautions. Great minds were often afflicted by soaring self-confidence. 

"I still think it was... idiocy for Charles to have one, after Onslaught," Scott said slowly. "But what's done is done." They couldn't hold grudges. Not now. They didn't have the luxury. "Keeping them locked away is the only safe option. You're right."

Steve nodded, and Scott didn't think he was imagining the brief flicker of gratitude in the other man's eyes. He still looked pensive, however, as he leaned forward over the console and called up the parameters of the simulation Scott had just run. "It was a strenuous couple of hours at the Pentagon tonight," he said after a moment as he started to tweak the simulation, changing how the teams were deployed. 

Scott watched his changes and resisted the urge to make any comments about reshuffling the deck chairs on the Titanic. "That bad?"

"In a way I wasn't expecting. The arm-twisting was minimal, like I said." Steve shook his head at the console and then sighed, pushing his chair back as if resisting the temptation to keep fiddling. "No one at the meeting was advocating trying to appease the Shi'ar anymore. That's not on the table anymore. I don't think it's even _under_ the table. No one's about to argue with a cosmic entity that may be our best chance of turning back a Shi'ar invasion, even if it's the reason the invasion's happening in the first place."

"But?" Scott asked, not quite dryly. Steve didn't seem worried, just... troubled.

"But, there was a lively discussion about why the mutant genome really needed to be reignited in the first place." Scott grimaced, but Steve immediately shook his head. "You had to know that sentiment would be out there," he said more quietly. "At least this wasn't malicious. They acknowledged the casualties on M-Day and all the ones since. But I got the strong sense that some of the people at the table just couldn't wrap their minds around why anyone would want to inflict potential life-altering manifestations on young people who might be living perfectly 'normal' lives right now."

"I notice you don't mention them wondering why mutants who were depowered might want their abilities back," Scott said, a bit stiffly. Of course he'd known that sentiment would be out there. If he hadn't prepared a mental list of all the likely arguments against letting Hope do what she was meant to do, he wouldn't have been so secretive about it in the first place.

"No," Steve said, giving him a level look, "but the question remains. What about the mutants who _were_ happy to lose their powers in the Decimation? There must be a number of them out there."

He did so enjoy it when members of the baseline majority had opinions on how nice it must have been for some people to opt out of membership in a persecuted minority. "You explained the cosmic implications to them, I trust?" Scott asked, as patiently as he could. "That it's not about individuals and what they want?" 

"I did. Don't get me wrong, Scott, I accept that argument myself." Steve smiled mirthlessly. "I suppose it helps that I know people who've _met_ the Celestials. But it's harder for people who are focused on making concrete decisions in the mundane world to deal with the idea of angry spacegods taking issue with Earth centuries or millennia down the line. Don't even get me started on what the electoral cycle does to their long-term perspective." His expression darkened again as he went on. "But they do have a point. If Hope succeeds, there may be as many mutants out there who curse her as who bless her. You, me, all of us are going to have to deal with that."

"With our luck, there'll be _more_ of the former than the latter," Scott muttered, but went on more fiercely before Steve could respond. "No, I'm fully aware of the problems this could create. But clinging to Wanda's spell as a way of dealing with those problems is as unnatural as... as looking for a cure for mutation. I've seen angry young mutants lash out before, Steve. You deal with it when it happens, and you try to show them a better way to cope with who and what they are. At this point, I would give everything I have just for the opportunity to do that." He laughed harshly. "I _want_ all the old problems back. You have no idea how much."

All the old problems. A world where what they worried about was how to co-exist with baseline humans and thwart mutants with delusions of grandeur, rather than fighting to keep that list of surviving mutants from growing shorter.

"I always knew the cosmic implications were there," he said more quietly. Steve just watched him steadily; intently, Scott thought. "But for me, it's as much about being... the sum of our experiences, not just of our genes. Who we are, what we've done, what we've suffered, all of it has value. We _don't_ deserve to be wiped from existence because one of our own found herself in a position where her power matched her self-hatred."

He couldn't keep the sudden venom out of his voice, and he didn't feel even a flicker of regret at the way Steve winced. The X-Men might have to tolerate Wanda's presence for practical reasons, but that was as far as it went. Scott had no intention of welcoming her as a comrade, or of being in the same room with her if he could avoid it.

But Steve didn't try to defend her. Maybe he _was_ learning. "Hope said something very similar to me," he said quietly. "About wanting it all to matter. I understand. I do." He smiled tiredly, something very sad in the expression. "It just seems like winning here opens up a whole host of new problems. Or old ones, I guess. I suppose part of me wants more for the mutant race than just a... stay of extinction, after everything you've all been through. That's overly idealistic of me, I know. You'd think I'd be at peace with the essential unfairness of life at this point."

"We have to win first, before we worry about the rest of it," Scott pointed out, not unkindly, and got a soft, mostly-humorless laugh from Steve for the comment. "And I don't know. I think it'll feel like victory, if we get there." He swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. "It'll feel like hope, at least. I'd take that."

"I think we all would."

* * *

Someone was calling his name. Possibly had been calling his name for some time, Nathan thought dimly, and opened his eyes. 

"I dislike repeating myself, Summers," Namor said. He was hovering a short distance away, and despite the seemingly haughty words, there was no real edge in his tone. "I also dislike carrying messages, but there are numerous SHIELD officers fussing about you occupying a major flight path for six hours."

Six hours? "What time is it?" Nathan asked, glancing down at the SHIELD headquarters facility and all its lights laid out hundreds of feet below him. He'd just stepped out for some air, but that had been well before midnight. He didn't even remember coming up here, he realized, frowning as the wings of the firebird beat lazily to keep him in place. 

"Not long before dawn," Namor said, jerking his head at the top of one of the larger hangar buildings in a clear suggestion. Nathan nodded and descended with him to the roof, the firebird collapsing around him as he landed. The glow didn't go away, of course. It rarely did these days. 

"Dawn," Nathan said, looking eastward and shaking his head a little. "I suppose that's not a good sign. Losing time. I think I was tired." His mind ranged outwards for a moment, and he tilted his head as he regarded Namor. "Hope?"

"Asleep. Snoring loudly enough to be heard down the hall." Namor's eyes narrowed as he realized he'd been drawn into admitting that he'd checked on her, and Nathan smiled faintly. 

Part of him found it very reassuring that Namor so obviously saw Hope as someone to be protected, even now. _She needs all the protectors she can get, Phoenix or no Phoenix._ There was a wary sort of affection mixed with his protectiveness, too, which seemed to bewilder the Atlantean whenever he acknowledged it to himself.

"I'm glad. She needs to rest, even if it's just for a night," Nathan said, and blinked, dazed, as he was hit with the memory of their first night back in the present, when they'd robbed that store for money and supplies and then taken shelter in the motel. 

There were moments from that night that glowed so warmly in his memories. Hope's astonishment at the sight of a real bed, her giggles as she'd bounced on it. The longing way she'd looked at the hairbrush set in the store, as if it were some symbol of the normal life she'd missed out on completely as Bishop chased the two of them across the centuries. 

The way her eyes had lit up when he'd given it to her later, that spark of girlish glee soothing (just for a moment) the sadness he'd felt at how much he hadn't been able to give her, how much he'd... 

"Nathan." Namor's hand had locked over his shoulder, squeezing tightly enough to hurt. Nathan caught himself before he could totter on his feet again, and straightened, ignoring the knot in his chest and the stinging feeling in his eyes.

Being sideswiped by his own memories was one of the less-enjoyable side effects of hosting the Phoenix. Especially when he knew there might not be many more of those moments with Hope. _She_ might survive what was coming. He intended to do everything he could to make sure of it. 

But he wouldn't. He was almost sure of that. 

"Promise me," he said, his voice uneven, but the hint of thunder creeping back into it. "Promise me you'll keep protecting her, Namor. I know I don't have a right to ask-"

" _Summers._ " The other man's grip tightened, the dark eyes acquiring a laser-like focus. "You have no reason to ask," Namor said fiercely, "because there is no need. I will see her accomplish this thing if I must put myself between her and that fool Gladiator himself." 

Control returned as the Phoenix murmured soothingly at the back of his mind, and Nathan almost managed a smile. "I'd like to see _that_ fight," he said, and meant it. "I almost regret that I'll be in space."

Namor gave a brief, brusque nod and released him, although his gaze was still watchful. "There are times I have found your daughter quite... exasperating," he said abruptly. "She _is_ young, and frequently foolish." 

"She tries. Sometimes that means she's very trying." Nathan took a deep breath and then another, rubbing at his temples for a moment and trying to find the serenity that had apparently sucked him in so deeply that he'd spent six hours hovering over SHIELD headquarters. He needed at least a little of that back. 

"Young and foolish," Namor repeated, "but there _is_ strength in her. Clumsily directed at times, but enough to do what must be done. If we can buy her a chance, she _will_ dismantle this cage of Maximoff's. I believe that, Summers. I honor her for that. And you," he said more quietly, "for bringing her back to us so that we might see this finished."

There was something terribly funny about having hearing that sentiment from Namor, of all people. But Nathan limited himself to a nod of silent thanks. In a way, it meant even more that Namor had picked up on the image of the cage, that he _understood_ it in the same way Hope and he did. Not all the X-Men did. Scott, certainly, and Emma. Maybe Hank. Definitely Erik, as much as his love for his daughter tore at him in the face of what she'd done.

The man just emerging onto the roof didn't. But then, he didn't understand much. The flames around Nathan grew bright as he stared across Namor's shoulder at Logan. The urge to throw Logan from the roof was growing with each step close the other man took.

Namor half-turned to see what he was looking at, and his expression went wintry. He had flown into a rather impressive rage when Nathan had revealed the details of Logan's 'arrangement' with Hope. Nathan was fairly sure Namor still regretted letting Emma stop him from putting Logan through the window of the conference room. 

"Namor. Cable." Logan nodded curtly at both of them, but his attention shifted to Nathan and stayed there. "Summers, you and I need to talk."

"Curious," Namor said, almost mildly. "I have a need, too. I believe it is to see how many times I might bounce you off the tarmac before someone works up the nerve to stop me."

Logan growled under his breath, nostrils flaring, and Nathan could sense how fiercely he was holding onto his anger, fighting to keep it from exploding out where anyone who wasn't telepathic could see it. He supposed he should applaud him for the attempt. 

_Flonq that._ "You have nothing I need to hear," Nathan said, his voice glacial. He was fighting his own battle against a rage that would be far more lethal than Logan's if he gave in to it. Since the moon, it had been so much harder to stick to Erik's suggested course of action and simply leave things be. He had felt Rachel die, felt her _murdered_ because the shadows behind Xavier had deemed her to be a threat. 

A part of him had died with her. Even after the Phoenix had healed him, the corner of his mind that had been bound up with Rachel's in that bond that had endured time displacement and near-death was blasted and dark and _hurt_ in a way that would never stop. 

Maybe he was being irrational, but Logan had thought he had the right to make decisions about who was too dangerous to live, too.

Logan stopped, both hands out in a gesture that might have been placating, coming from someone else. He might even have meant it to be. "We have to get this settled between us," he said gruffly. "We can't afford the distraction."

"The distraction," Nathan said flatly. He stepped around Namor, the wings of the firebird half-opening as he moved towards Logan. "The fact that you were planning to murder my daughter if you felt it was necessary is a _distraction_?"

To his credit, Logan didn't budge. "You look me in the eye," he said steadily, "and tell me that you're one hundred percent in control of what you're doing right now, Nate. Then tell me if I was supposed to think that a seventeen year-old kind who'd just lost her father was going to be able to do better."

"Seven," Namor suddenly said, decisively. "I could bounce you off the tarmac seven times before Cable rips your head off."

"For fuck's sake, Namor, lay off!" Logan barked. "Neither of you saw what happened with Dark Phoenix. You don't know how easily it could have gone bad-"

" _ **Enough!**_ " The roar wasn't entirely his. Wasn't even mostly his, to be fair. The Phoenix had come screaming forward from the back of his mind, and Nathan didn't make the conscious decision to let the firebird appear and pin Logan to the roof with a set of fiery talons, it just sort of... happened. Not that he was shedding any tears about it. 

" _ **We are RIGHT HERE, Logan, have you stopped to reflect on that?**_ " The words were his but not at the same time. Nathan floated on the sea of fire, his rage mingling with the Phoenix's rage until there was no dividing line anymore. " _ **Did no one tell you it's impolite to insult a cosmic entity to its face? Do you know how easily we could sear the flesh from your bones? Every last cell, so that there's nothing to regenerate? Do you know how much we WANT to do that?**_ "

Logan struggled for a moment, his claws coming out as if reflexively. But he didn't give in to his instincts. He went limp instead, staring up at Nathan with a grim sort of humor. "Okay," he growled in a strained voice. "You just... go ahead and prove me right."

Namor moved closer, his expression cautious and his posture tense, but his voice was level as he spoke. "Cable... or Phoenix? Taking a moment to calm yourself might be advisable."

" ** _We don't want to be calm! We want to burn out the part of him that ever considered this in the first place, so that he can never even_ think _it again!_** " Everything was fire. Fire and grief and desperate, protective rage. The firebird shook Logan like a rag doll once, as if for emphasis, and then slammed him back against the roof. " ** _We love her, don't you understand! We never meant to leave her, we came back from death_ twice _for her!_** "

Visibly fighting to breathe as the firebird's weight bore down on him, Logan bit back a curse and met Nathan's eyes, understanding surfacing.

"She's... not Tyler," he ground out. 

The firebird collapsed as memories screamed at him - _standing over Tyler's body, too frozen for grief, a distant part of him counting the claw marks and knowing how much he must have suffered before he finally died_ \- and Nathan stumbled backwards, tears blurring his vision. He brushed at them angrily, turning away. "Fuck you," he muttered. "Just... fuck you, Logan. I don't want to talk to you."

Logan sat up, but went no further. He was still breathing hard, but the flesh beneath the torn rents in his clothing was already healing. "Not much enjoying poking at the angry firebird god myself," he growled, "but we can't just let this be, Nate. You're not going to be able to do what you need to do up there in space if you've got it in your head that you need to worry about me stabbing your kid while you're gone."

"This is a pointless discussion," Namor said, with the sort of patience one used to talk to small children or the mentally deficient. "You don't wish to distract him, Logan? Then stop forcing your presence upon him. Reassure him by staying away from the girl, not bringing up the past!"

With his back turned to Logan, Nathan's hands went to his temples and the flames around him trembled. His memories weren't through with him yet. Tyler's body in the mansion morgue became Sam's here at SHIELD, the burns making him almost unrecognizable. Nathan fought back the grief with desperate strength. Gone, both of them gone, both of his sons...

Logan seemed to have tuned out Namor completely. "That's what's got you taking pokes at me whenever you see a chance, isn't it?" he said, his voice harsh. "There's a part of you that thinks I'm just _looking_ for an excuse to do it."

"If I really thought that," Nathan said, his voice coming out far more gravelly than he would have liked, "you'd be dead and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I don't buy that. You're looking for a way of neutralizing me, Nate. I _know_ you. That's why you picked that moment to tell the whole damned room what Hope and I agreed on. And you've been pushing just hard enough to make it absolutely fucking clear that you're going to be less cooperative the more I'm around her, or the more you have to work with me. You're trying to sideline me," Logan grated, "and it's working. Which, to be fair, has me wanting to stab _you_."

"... oh, yes," Namor said, still in that 'I cannot imagine why I am listening to this impossible idiocy' sort of tone. "I can see that going _very_ well for you, Wolverine."

"Maybe that's got nothing to do with Hope." Nathan kept his back to Logan, trying to calm himself. The flames around him kept spitting sparks, however, which was as probably as good as wearing a sign that it wasn't working. "Maybe I just don't want to chance you deciding you don't like our strategy and oh, threatening to blow everyone up..."

Infuriatingly, he sensed a flicker of grim amusement from Logan. "Pretty sure Scott's already got Frost keeping an eye on me on that score, Nate. You're probably safe to just hate me for your own reasons." 

Nathan rounded on him, the flames going white, and saw Logan flinch and Namor take a step back. "You think this is funny?" he asked roughly. "How many years were she and I on the run from Bishop, Logan? How long did she spent thinking she might turn out to be the monster he thought she was? And then she winds up back here, alone and vulnerable, and _you_ decide to reinforce that. I'm not even surprised she agreed."

That hit home; he could see it in the way Logan's eyes flickered. "Someone had to be ready," he said, but less firmly. "If the worst happened."

"And that someone was you?" Nathan snapped bitterly. "Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Your father, actually. At the time," Logan muttered as he got to his feet finally. "You got an issue with me being prepared to stop a threat before it all went bad, you take it up with him, Nate. He's the one who set the rules of engagement-"

There was no telekinesis behind the punch that landed squarely on Logan's jaw. No Phoenix-aided enhancement or protection of any sort, and the immediate, sharp pain in his hand only reinforced that. But the punch was still solid enough to knock Logan back on his ass again, which was all Nathan had really wanted. 

Logan spat blood, then looked up at him. "I'm not going to hurt her, Nate," he said doggedly. "I'm not stupid. We need her. We need _both_ of you right now, or we're not going to make it through this."

"Just shut up," Nathan said wearily, fatigue crashing down on him like a sudden rainstorm. "I don't want to hear it. You're a hypocrite, _Headmaster_. You left Utopia to start that school because you didn't want mutant kids to have to fight and kill. You didn't want them thinking they were monsters. But you told my daughter, _my daughter_ who never _had_ a real choice that maybe she's going to be the worst monster of them all."

* * *

There hadn't been much for Hope to contribute to the strategy sessions. If the fleet beat the Phoenix to Earth, she would have her role to play. She had made sure she was familiar with it, and that she paid close attention to any changes to the strategy Scott and Commander Rogers were putting together. Nathan would have expected nothing less of her, and she didn't want to give him anything more to worry about. He had enough on his mind, planning how he was going to intercept the Shi'ar fleet.

But once the Phoenix firebird hit atmosphere, she had something else to do, something even more important. That part, unlike the battle with the Shi'ar, depended entirely on her. And failure was _not_ an option. Everything they'd sacrificed, all the people they'd lost – it had all been to give her this chance, and she was not going to squander it. 

At first, she had wondered just what good her support team was meant to be. They'd made her feel a little like a zoo animal at first, finding everything she did terribly interesting, whether she was studying Wanda or one of the depowered mutants or the cage itself. They wanted to know _everything_ she saw. Doctor Richards in particular was constantly asking her questions, although Nemesis and Hank had had their share too. Strange asked less but made more suggestions than the others put together, and some of the meditation exercises he'd taught her had been far harder than any of Nathan's. 

But they'd helped, as had listening to the doctors and their theories. Things she hadn't thought were important were, and when she looked at the details they'd plucked from her descriptions the way Strange had taught her, she could see more clearly. Could see _more_ , period. The crimson knotwork of the spell was more complex than she'd first realized. Each strand was a thousand threads, and there was a tension in the whole structure that she'd also missed at first. It wasn't passively suppressing the X-gene, it was _damaging_ it, every moment of every day. Strangling what should be.

She couldn't simply burn it away. That had been her first impulse, or maybe the Phoenix's, but that wasn't going to do any good. Hope had been pretty sure for a few days now that she could contain the backlash of energy (which meant there was no danger that she might accidentally collapse the multiverse), but the spell was too tightly wound around the very people she was trying to help. The stress of having it violently disrupted could be lethal.

The mutant gene itself was startlingly fragile, more than she'd ever imagined it would be. If she wasn't careful, she could burn it out of humanity entirely, and that would be a whole new level of failure. So the problem needed a delicate touch. If she couldn't burn it away, or bring the cage crashing down, she needed to undo the knots. To unravel it as gently as possible and let the energy dissipate. Then, she'd have to heal the wounds it had left behind. _That_ was the only way to make this work.

She'd done her best to explain that to the others. Once they had chewed things over to their satisfaction (and that had taken two long and frustrating days), they'd found her a volunteer. Hope stared across the room at Dani Moonstar, feeling more than a few butterflies in her stomach at the level, watchful way the other woman was regarding her. 

_It just had to be her, didn't it?_ "Are you ready?" Her voice came out sounding almost steady. She wasn't nervous, she told herself. Not nervous at all. She just... had to do this right. It was too important. Now she had someone's life literally in her hands. This _could_ kill Dani if she messed things up. Hope swallowed past the tightness in her throat, folding her arms tightly across her chest so that Dani wouldn't see her hands shaking.

Dani just raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" she asked, and Hope flushed as she remembered the fight they'd had in Utopia's mess hall. It was so easy to bring Dani's exact words to Nathan back to mind, as if she was back there standing in that moment. The Phoenix made your memories impossibly vivid. 

_Is your new hobby worth the trouble?_ The way Dani had gotten in Nathan's face had been the excuse the Hope of a year ago had been looking for, she could admit that now. Dani hadn't been the only one who'd been angry, who'd questioned whether the sacrifices the X-Men had made were worth it, but she'd been the only one Hope could get away with punching in the face that day.

Looking at her now, listening to her thoughts, Hope could tell Dani wasn't thinking about their first meeting at all. Her mind was bursting at the seams with so many conflicting thoughts and images. Edginess about whether or not this would work, flinty determination that whether it did or not, she was _not_ going to sit on the sidelines for what was coming. So many _faces_ , so much grief and anger coloring her last memories of Sam and the Professor, of the others who'd been lost, and a boiling rage at the thought of Wanda that matched Hope's own. 

And all of that was just on the surface. Hope envied her ability to stay so outwardly calm. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and told herself she could do the same.

"I can't promise it won't hurt," she said quietly, instead of answering what she knew had been a rhetorical question. 

"Can't hurt any more than losing my powers in the first place," Dani said levelly, and Hope felt how much she wanted this to work. Not just to get her own powers back, but to shove it in Wanda's face, in _history's_ face, because her people had nearly been lost once before. To see mutantkind step away from the edge of extinction and never look back would be a victory on more than one level for her.

_She believes in me,_ Hope realized. _No. She_ wants _to believe._ She needed a sign. Something to hold onto, and she wasn't the only one. Everyone knew how much worse things were going to get in just a few days. _This has to work,_ Hope thought desperately. She had to show them that she could do this. 

"We're ready up here when you are, Hope," Doctor Richards said from the observation booth. She could sense all of them, him and Strange and Hank and Nemesis, all watching. She supposed it was a miracle that there weren't more people crowded in there. Then again, they could be watching from elsewhere. _Stop thinking about that,_ she told herself firmly, and opened herself as fully as she could to the Phoenix. 

The firebird half-opened its wings, barely missing some of the equipment in the room, but she couldn't have stopped it if she'd tried. When she was holding this much power the lightshow was inevitable. The overwhelming weight of the Phoenix's awareness was right there, looking through her eyes, eager to begin.

But she needed more. Running through the first of the meditative exercises Strange had taught her, Hope let herself sink further and further into that ocean of fire. It didn't mean she lost her grip on the world. The world around her only grew sharper, every detail like crystal. 

" _This doesn't work,_ " she said, opening her eyes. Her voice was soft, and although the Phoenix's voice echoed in the words, the thunder was subdued. Gentle. " _What Wanda did. I'm fixing it,_ " she said firmly. Decisively. There was no pain, no anger. Just sorrow and determination and love. " _ **I'm fixing this. Now.**_ "

Dani opened her mouth, but Hope didn't wait to hear what she had to say. She reached for her, wrapped her in fire that went from sunlight gold to pure incandescent white and filled the room in an instant. 

Against the white light, the baleful crimson of Wanda's spell stood out like blood. Hope could feel Dani's powers pushing against the bars of the cage, and somehow she knew that the other woman had been doing it ever since M-Day. That she had been fighting all that time, struggling in a trap she couldn't see, knowing only that it was wrong, that it _hurt_. 

So Hope set her free. 

Reality bent around Dani, carefully placed flickers of flame severing individual threads with infinite precision. The spell unraveled in an instant, the burning crimson energy fading into the whiteness all at once, as if it had never been. In the next instant, Hope reached out to the energy patterns that were Dani Moonstar as they trembled in shock, and let strength flow into her. Enough to stabilize her in that moment of trauma, so that Dani could do the rest. 

_**#Remember,#**_ she whispered urgently to Dani, knowing that the last step wasn't hers. It had to be Dani's. _**#Remember who you are, Dani Moonstar. Wake up and remember...#**_

Maybe it was because Dani was a psi, that the moment her powers reactivated was like a star being born on the astral plane. It flared into existence in the space between two heartbeats, blazing in the dark with a shimmering peal of sound like the ringing of a great bell. Grounded. Healed.

The white light died and Hope bit back a gasp, tears running down her face as she swayed. Dani staggered as well, projecting incredulity so overwhelming that it nearly bowled Hope right over. There were tears brimming over in her eyes, too, and she raised a shaking hand to her temple, her mouth working silently for a moment.

"Danielle!" Hank was there suddenly, barreling through the door and to Dani's side. Hope had no idea how he'd gotten down out of the control booth so fast. "Are you-"

He stopped as Dani raised a hand. Tears were spilling down her cheeks and she was breathing hard, but she was smiling, a huge smile of disbelief and wonder. She looked at Hope, a breathless laugh escaping her.

"Scott was right about you," she whispered. "I should have had more faith." Before Hope could respond, Dani had crossed the distance between them and folded her in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Thank you so much, Hope."

Hope couldn't help it. She clung to Dani and did her absolute best not to dissolve in tears, but it was _not_ her best effort. "I'm sorry it took me so long," she whispered back, her voice breaking as a wave of exaltation and relief broke over her. She hadn't hurt Dani. She'd fixed her powers. She'd done what she was supposed to do, _finally_. 

"Your powers are back, then, Danielle?" Hank's voice was odd and unsteady, and Hope looked up to see Doctor Richards, Nemesis, and Doctor Strange entering the room at a slightly more sedate pace. Hank's ears were twitching furiously, and he stopped to clear his throat before he went on. "That is to say, ah... we should run some tests, and-"

"They're back," Dani said, without letting go of Hope. She left one arm around Hope's shoulders, then wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "But yeah. Proof I can do. I don't think this is the kind of occasion where I should show you your worst fears, Hank. So maybe this will do."

She closed her eyes, a look of brief concentration settling over her features, and the ceiling changed, became the smooth high dome of the Cerebra chamber on Utopia. Illusion, but so strong, so vivid that anyone who wasn't a psi or who didn't have strong defenses of their own would have seen it as seamless reality. Darkness fell over them, and the deep, echoing hum of Cerebra powering up vibrated through the floor beneath their feet. 

And then the dome lit up with lights. Millions upon millions of stars. The mutant race reborn. 

Fresh tears blurred Hope's eyes, and as she looked back at Hank, she saw he was crying, too. "Oh," he said softly, his voice catching. "Oh, we have to find a way to see this through. To hell with the Shi'ar."

Doctor Richards reached out and laid a hand on his shoulders, squeezing gently. "We will, Hank." He sounded a little shaken himself. Nemesis was wearing an odd, almost reluctant smile, and Strange was breathing deeply, a look of relief on his face like some massive weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. 

Hope could feel Nathan watching, and as she reached out for him, his presence wrapped around her, the astral equivalent of a steadying hug. #I understand,# she sent to him, her voice fierce. #I finally understand. I have to do this, Nathan. No matter what it takes, I have to do this.# 

#You will. I've always known you will.# Lost behind the steady love and absolute, rock-solid faith was a wistful, forlorn sort of hope that he would be there to see it, and Hope squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop crying. 

"I just need more power," she said when Dani asked her if she was all right. The comment earned her a worried look, but Hope made herself smile, trying to reassure her. "That's all I need. I need the Phoenix to be here, and we can fix _all_ of it. I see what I have to do now."


	25. For We Are Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky falls. Almost literally, as one of the Fraternity's secret weapons takes action to destroy Earth's hopes of defending itself against the Shi'ar.

"Things sound like they're on track over there. Although you don't look like you've had any sleep since the last time we talked," Steve said. He felt guilty for bringing it up given that he was the one asking Tony to perform miracles. But the communications link with the SHIELD labs was of sufficient quality that the dark circles under Tony's eyes probably looked as bad as they actually were. Just because his friend _thought_ he could run indefinitely on inspiration and caffeine didn't mean he actually could. 

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Can't yet. I need to make sure the command and control systems on those minefields are up to snuff. If we can't alter their positions if the need arises they won't do us much good."

The orbital mines that had been Tony's first suggestion had been deployed over the course of the last forty-eight hours by Illyana Rasputin, who'd been able to teleport them into high earth orbit with ease. Positioning them that far away had been a strategic choice; it meant that whatever elements of the Shi'ar fleet got through Cable's ambush would fly directly into the minefields before they were within weapons range of the planet. The mines might not get them all, but the key here was attrition.

"Fair enough. Just you keep in mind that tired minds make mistakes," Steve said, then cracked a slight smile. "I know I sound like a mother hen, but try and get a few hours before you do too much more. We all need our heads on straight this week."

"Consider me making a mental note to schedule a nap," Tony said, tossing back the last of what Steve recognized as one of the particularly noxious energy drinks Tony preferred. "Oh, nearly forgot. I might be able to do something with what's left of my Phoenix gun." 

Steve raised an eyebrow in invitation, and Tony went on. "I mean, the basic idea came from MARAUDER to start with - ah, the plasma weapon research project, not the mutant assassins. The point is, it was _meant_ to destroy electronic systems. I just happened to figure out a way to tweak it to potentially disrupt the energy patterns of our favorite cosmic entity. So if I can get back to the fundamentals and improve on them..."

"We might have a gun that can disable Shi'ar warships," Steve said, letting the air in his lungs out on a sigh. "Seems too good to be true, Tony."

"It may be. I'd have to figure out a platform. And find the time to build it. There's the kicker." Tony smiled a bit sourly. "'Must have' versus 'nice to have', remember."

"I know." They had so little time that Tony and everyone else had been forced to prioritize ruthlessly. "Do what you can," Steve said, then smiled again, tiredly. "If you need me to rattle anyone's cage over there, just let me know."

"They're being plenty cooperative, Steve, not to worry. I tell them what I need, they deliver it. Or the scary little Russian blonde does. There's no way we would have gotten those mines deployed so fast without her," Tony said, cracking open another energy drink. "If we all survive this, remind me to-" He stopped, his head whipping around as alarms started to shrill in the background. 

Before Steve could do more than open his mouth, the unmistakable flash of an explosion lit the screen before it flickered to static. He froze for only an instant before he leaned over the console, trying to reopen the link with Tony at the same time that he opened one to the command center at SHIELD headquarters. Some sort of lab accident, he tried to tell himself, his pulse thundering in his ears. Tony wasn't the only one who'd been working himself into exhaustion, the same was true for the whole SHIELD scientific staff, and tired minds made mistakes—

" _Incoming!_ " Clint's tense, urgent voice cracked across the Tower's internal communications system. " _Something's firing on us, I don't know the source-_ "

The windows of the conference room had been repaired a few days ago. As the air outside flashed white, they shattered in an instant. The only blessing was that the shockwave blew Steve against the interior wall rather than sucking him outwards. 

The fact that it blew him _through_ the wall left him unable to appreciate his good luck.

* * *

"I don't believe it." Nemesis scowled at the test results displayed on the screen in front of him. "She actually did it. She reactivated that child's mutant gene _incidentally_."

"Astonishing," Hank said, his eyes locked on the same results. Hope's breakthrough with Dani had been just the beginning. In only a handful of days, she had repowered a staggering number of volunteers. Those with close ties to the X-Men had gone to the head of the line, of course; it had been Scott's suggestion, and Hank had agreed with the strategic necessity. But that had been a relatively short list, and so they had started to reach out to other depowered mutants to offer them the option as well. Just because X-Corporation had been dissolved didn't mean its records had been lost. 

They'd been honest about the situation with each mutant they had contacted. Ethically speaking, they could do no less. There was no guarantee that the conflict with the Shi'ar would end well, and every chance that if it didn't, repowered mutants might become targets. Hank had been surprised that so few had opted to wait, in the end. They had been forced to move here to the Baxter Building to make themselves more accessible to the steady stream of volunteers. 

This morning's schedule had been suspended temporarily while they had examined this latest twist. Hope's first 'customers' this morning had been a couple who had both been associated with X-Corporation before the Decimation. Formerly an empath of moderate strength and a feral, they'd brought their child with them, a girl of seven who'd tested X-factor positive at birth but whose mutant gene had been rendered inactive after M-Day as well. 

Something very unexpected had happened when Hope had repowered her parents. Though the girl had been two floors away, playing with Valeria Richards, she had been surrounded by the Phoenix's glow at the same moment that Hope had repowered her parents. Sue had brought her immediately to the lab, and a distraught Hope had apologized frantically to the girl's mother. _I didn't mean to, all the knots are connected!_ she'd said. Which had only one interpretation, really. 

So they had tested the girl, and the results were quite clear. Her mutant gene had been reactivated. It remained dormant, for which Hank was devoutly grateful; seven was _far_ too young, especially given the chances of her inheriting some variation on her mother's psionic mutation. Just as thankfully, the girl's parents had been a sturdy sort, emotionally speaking. The empathic mother had been the one to soothe Hope, reassuring her that if she and her husband had realized it was an option, they would have asked her to do it in the first place. 

"That was one of our big unanswered questions, wasn't it?" Reed asked from his chair. Strange was elsewhere; after Hope's breakthrough, he had been devoting more of his time to more mystic investigations of his own into the source of whatever had possessed Charles. "Whether she could reactivate the gene in someone who hadn't manifested yet. I'd call this good news, although it certainly introduces a whole new set of complications."

"Oh, you don't like the idea of her repowering existing mutants while simultaneously kicking countless thousands of mutants who _should_ have manifested into making up for lost time?" Nemesis asked, very dryly. "Frankly I think it should be terribly exciting. And interesting, in the Chinese sense."

"I suspected this would be the case," Hank said pensively. "It only makes sense; the Phoenix is after the restoration of the race, not just the powers of individual mutants. But it alters our... public relations strategy rather dramatically."

The initial plan had been to wait until the firebird was close and then send out a carefully crafted public message that the government had come into the possession of information suggesting that M-Day would soon be reversed. That taking precautions, especially for those who had possessed dangerous mutations, would be in order. There had been a number of plans for what would have happened then, many of which had been questionably feasible from Hank's perspective. It was all well and good to suggest that depowered mutants assemble at rallying points where medical attention would be on hand, but he hadn't been the only one to point out that too many mutants would see it as lining up to be rounded up. _Not to mention you'd be providing targets for the Shi'ar,_ Scott had pointed out grimly.

But if they were looking at the full-scale reactivation of the mutant gene once the Phoenix arrived, there would be no containing the chaos. The world could only brace itself. 

"The long-term consequences of a mass manifestation are ugly, to say the least," Reed said, looking deeply troubled. "There _has_ to be a way to manage this."

"To spin it, you mean," Nemesis said darkly. "Dream on, Richards. If we survive the Shi'ar and Hope pulls this off, we might just revive the mutant race. But we'll all be standing on some damned precarious ground. No getting around that."

"I'm as troubled by the fact that she didn't do this consciously," Hank said, in an effort to draw them back to something they _could_ address today. The question of what to tell the world required far broader input. "That it was simply an unintended side effect of repowering Anais and Pierre. We need to help her figure out _why_ the 'knots' are all connected. I think that-"

He didn't manage to finish his sentence before the roof of Reed's lab caved in. 

* * *

There were days that Kitty Pryde wondered if anyone would _really_ mind if she just... happened to phase Quentin Quire into a solid wall somewhere. Then again, chances were good that it wouldn't work on an omega-level psi. Wishful thinking on her part, and quite inappropriate for someone in her position. 

Still. There _were_ days. This would be one of them. Kitty knew she wasn't at her best. There was no getting away from the grief, not when she walked down the main hall every day and saw the faces of her lost friends in the pictures that hung there. She hadn't cried herself to sleep every night, but only because she'd hardly slept at all. Her patience had worn down to a fraying thread, which meant she was having to work particularly hard to manage an appropriate headmistress-ly tone at the moment. 

"Psionic assaults on your teachers are _not_ acceptable, Quentin," she said to the young man slouched in the chair on the other side of her desk. "I don't know what we have to do to get that through your head." Rachel had tried, she knew, and swallowed back the pain at the thought. So had Charles, before her. 

Quentin shrugged. "World's coming to an end, Ms. Pryde," he said casually. "Haven't you heard? If I want to take a poke at the gym teacher, none of us are going to be around for much longer to worry about it."

"Quentin," Kitty said, trying very hard not to snap at him, "the world is _not_ going to end." He knew more than what was good for him about what was going on, of course; he'd never had any qualms about eavesdropping. "I know things look grim right now, but I'm not going to let you use that as an excuse to abuse the staff. Or your fellow students."

Quentin rolled his eyes. "Sure you're not. Going to ask one of the Phoenix hosts down here to take me over their knee?" He put on a fake eager smile. "Oh, oh, make it Hope. I like redheads."

"Quentin, enough-" Kitty said, or rather started to say. Because in the next instant, Quentin's eyes unfocused and he raised a shaking hand to wipe at a sudden trickle of blood from his nose. "What's wrong?" she asked, her tone sharpening with concern instead of anger. 

Quentin opened his mouth, but the only noise that came out was almost a moan. He slumped forward briefly in his chair, and Kitty was buffeted by a sudden projection of shock and terror. The emotions were accompanied by the half-formed image of something high in the sky, something blindingly bright and plummeting towards the school. 

Kitty didn't ask again; she simply reacted, rising at the same moment that she hit the alarm on the underside of the desk. The kids needed to be in the shelter. Now. Phasing Quentin through his chair, she pulled him with her out into a hallway abruptly filled with students. All of whom were taking this much more seriously than they might have a month ago. 

"He's going to kill all of us," Quentin said thickly, stumbling. 

" _Who_?" Kitty demanded. 

"Legion."

* * *

_Fight,_ his father's voice had whispered to David, when the Raptors' attention had been focused elsewhere. _You have to fight them, David. We can't let them use us to destroy what's left of our people._

'Our' people. As if belonging to the mutant race had ever done much for David. And it was hard to remember the need to fight, when the Raptors had given him so much. Peace in his own head, for the first time David could remember. Not the temporary peace provided by the neural switchboard the X-Men's science team had created for him, but _real_ peace.

And all he had needed to do was let them in. Instead of the teeming horde of alternate personalities, his mind was an army of dark-armored Raptors. Working in concert. Mastering the power-sets of the other personalities they had taken as their hosts. The quiet was... blissful. Part of him had wondered if it was _too_ much so. But then, even his father had learned to appreciate the Raptors in the end. Before he'd headed back to Earth, the whispered warnings had become infrequent, then rare. 

He was on Earth himself now. Hovering over SHIELD headquarters - no, Avengers Tower. Now the Baxter Building. A school that didn't look anything like the old mansion. A military base. A naval base. Then back to SHIELD headquarters. The facility with which the Raptor in charge of his ability to fold space moved him from place to place was so impressive. Like it had been using those powers all its life. 

David watched the SHIELD hangars burn. Watched as plasmatic flame poured downwards through the Baxter Building, melting everything it touched. The ships at the naval base were being refitted with Stark weapons, one of his Raptor personalities informed the others; they would be a threat to the Shi'ar fleet when it arrived. They burned as well.

Human soldiers ran for cover - too slow, always too slow. But they were peripheral. It was the equipment, the infrastructure that needed to be destroyed right now. Fighter jets turned into salt sculptures. Acid gas billowed through the corridors of the Helicarrier, destroying systems, and only a few of its crew escaped the gas as the great ship fell towards the water. 

_You don't seem bothered by this,_ the Raptor inhabiting the Delphic personality observed as they found themselves above the Jean Grey School once more. The first attack had shattered the buildings, but there were still rats in the basement, David thought darkly. Young mutants in their shelter, thinking they were safe. 

_I'm not,_ he replied. Another Raptor brought its host personality's geokinesis into place, and seismic shockwaves tore through the ground beneath the school. The living ground, a telepathic Raptor observed - _Krakoa?_ \- but David shrugged that off as well as he sensed the creature's death through the Raptor. 

If he'd had any empathy left for his fellow mutants, young or old, human or not, it had died when Scott Summers had shot his father in the head.

 _Three questions,_ he said to the Raptor that had been Delphic, his precognitive self, as the ground churned like water. The Raptors were accommodating, he'd found. Perfectly willing to indulge him. They had used his powers to create whole worlds for him inside his own head. All of them had been preferable to the real world. 

_If you like,_ the Raptor said. _That is how this personality used to work, isn't it?_

The shelter resisted the geokinetic disturbance, and they moved on, to hit another target while the Raptors considered what powers set might solve that problem. They were above Avengers Tower once more, and there was a burly blond thunder god with a hammer flying directly at him. 

_Will any of them survive?_ David asked. _I don't ask because I care, particularly. I'm just curious._ Thor's lightning slashed into him, but several of his personalities were some variety of energy-absorber or electrokinetic. It was simplicity itself for those raptors to throw all that energy right back at the god of thunder, and Thor's armor smouldered as he went spinning through the air towards the ground. 

_We can't allow it. Not with the child Phoenix repowering so many. The seeds of the Imperium's destruction lie in every mutant._ There was a large, roaring red thing leaping at him from a shattered set of windows. The Raptor collective consulted, and a portal opened, dropping the Red Hulk directly onto Thor as the thunder god tried to recover. 

_So why aren't we attacking her directly?_ Time-manipulation next, and Thor and the Red Hulk slowed to a crawl. Making them perfect targets. David felt his body swell with massive muscles as he flew down to the two of them, and another Raptor added the superspeed punches that were ten times as fast in the altered perceptions of the two trapped Avengers. Unable to move quickly enough to even begin to defend themselves, they were soon battered to a pulp. 

_Because she will destroy us. Our only salvation is that they will keep her out of the fight until the last possible moment, to protect her._

Back into the air, and then there were seismic waves targeting him. Trying to explode his heart in his chest, David knew as a forcefield formed around him, dissipating the waves. The attack came from the dark-haired woman at the windows where the Red Hulk had emerged. Strong, but physically vulnerable, the Raptor collective analyzed, and in the next moment, Daisy Johnson started to scream as she caught fire. 

_Last question,_ David said as they shifted to SHIELD headquarters for long enough to drop what was left of the main building into a sinkhole, then went back to the Jean Grey School. _Why am I not targeting_ all _the mutants?_

 _Because you are here to break their resistance,_ the Delphic-Raptor said. _Killing the last of their children is as important as destroying their military strength, such as it is. It is a knife in their hearts. Exterminating them is the other's job. You will make it much easier._

He felt the Raptors draw more deeply on a mixture of his telekinesis and his reality-warping, and then the shelter was cracking open. His telepathy heard the screaming. The cluster of empathic personalities _fed_ on the terror in a way they never had before, converting it to more energy. More power. 

Just in time. The sky above him tore open and there was a Phoenix there. Not Hope, just as the Raptor had predicted. Cable, who had tried to thwart him once before, years ago in the desert. 

The Raptor collective, as if they were one mind and not hundreds, turned immediately to fight. 

* * *

He'd been too slow. Even when he'd figured out the pattern, where Legion would strike next, Nathan arrived at each place an instant too late. In each case, just in time to see a flash of light as Legion headed to his next target. It seemed impossible to Nathan that he should be so far behind, at least until he stopped for long enough to look, _really_ look at the residual energy at each site. 

Then he knew. Legion wasn't just folding space, he was folding _time_ as well. Even Phoenix-aided bodysliding couldn't keep up. 

There had to be another option. There _was_ another option, he realized, the answer coming to him immediately. A door in his mind needed to be opened, one that had been closed ever since that night in the Negev when he'd used his latent chrono-variant ability to warn the X-Men lost in the past of Legion's plans. This wasn't going to be comfortable, Nathan thought grimly, mustering as much of the Phoenix's power as he could, but he couldn't see the alternative. 

Bracing himself, he directed all that power _inward_ – directly at the deeply-rooted mental block that had kept him from consciously accessing his chronal powers for so many years. It fractured, instantly and explosively. Nathan couldn't bite back a scream that came out sounding more like the Phoenix's raptor-cry as he fell out of the air, his thoughts reeling with pain and shock. He didn't register the impact with the ground.

Someone was shouting his name, he realized dimly. But he couldn't focus. His sense of place and time had been turned upside down, spinning like a child's top. He was here, sprawled on a pile of rubble on the street outside Avengers Tower. But he was also at SHIELD headquarters, just beginning to react to the initial alarms and the explosion at the labs. 

He was training with Hope and Rachel on Utopia.

He was at the naval base in Norfolk, lifting a warship out of the water to try and save its drowning crewmen.

He was checking on Scott in the SHIELD infirmary, and tallying up how many Shi'ar he was going to kill for what they'd done to his father and his sister.

He was teleporting into Jupiter's orbit as the Shi'ar fleet approached. That finally snapped him out of the stunned daze, and past, present, and future stopped blurring into each other. He could focus again, could _see_ that there was something wrong. There weren't as many branch points in the timestream as there should be. There should be countless alternate possibilities and there weren't. It was as if the timestream had narrowed to a trickle. 

Down the line, in the near future, he saw Logan drop to his knees in front of a massive hole in the ground, screaming out his grief and rage at the sky. 

_The school!_ Without hesitation Nathan launched himself into the air, the firebird propelling him skyward as he reached out and tore reality open. Ten minutes. He needed to be ten minutes into the past to stop this. 

Calling it the timestream wasn't a figure of speech. Time flowed just like water, and he submerged himself in it, light and color and sound streaming around him as he forced himself against the tide to find the place he needed. The moment he needed. 

It didn't take long; he wasn't going that far. Nathan re-emerged into ordinary time in a blaze of fire and slammed into Legion before the other mutant could even begin to mount a defense. 

Below them, the school's shelter laid open to the sky. But there were people down there already trying to organize an evacuation, Nathan sensed – Kitty and the other staff members and some of the older students. _I need to buy them some time._ Looking into the future, he saw that if he could keep Legion busy for three minutes and fourteen seconds, Illyana would appear and start teleporting them away to safety. Ten seconds after that, Pixie would arrive to help. 

But three minutes and fourteen seconds was easier said than done. Legion launched a barrage of attacks, all of them different, an impossible variety of destructive powers. Fire and electricity and energy of various sorts he could block, but countering the sudden slowdown of time around him, _that_ was far harder. He managed it by launching himself into a sequence of flickering, rapid-fire jumps of only seconds ahead, but it was far from a perfect solution. When he emerged from the last jump, Legion was right there, disproportionately massive fists flying at superhuman speeds and connecting with such force that Nathan felt the blows even through the firebird. 

He was getting tired of playing defense. Nathan gritted his teeth and feinted; Legion reacted just as he'd hoped, leaving an opening wide enough for the firebird to lunge forward and grab him. Talons bit deeply into Legion's body, but _Nathan_ felt the pain as if it had been reflected back on him tenfold. Nathan roared in agony as he lost his grip on the other man and fell out of the air. Sheer bloody-minded stubbornness allowed to recover before he hit the ground, and he launched himself back skyward, flying at Legion with enough speed and force that it _should_ shatter every bone in his body. 

But then space folded around him and all that momentum carried him directly into the ground. 

#You've miscalculated the variables, Askani'son. Again.# The voice wasn't Legion's, but with a flash of teleportational energy the other man was right there. Long, curved psionic claws extended from his fingers and he slashed at the firebird, disrupting its energy patterns. 

In the next instant the claws slammed home, directly into Nathan's chest. Nathan found himself struggling to breathe, choking on blood, and for a moment he wasn't sure whether he was here or back on the moon, dying. 

#You rushed into the fray to protect her,# the unfamiliar voice told him. It seemed strangely textured, as if it was hundreds of voices speaking as one. #An emotional decision. One we predicted. You will die, just as the Starchilde did before you.#

Legion's mind was wide open and all Nathan could see were rows upon rows of dark-armored figures just like the ones that had accompanied Xavier on the moon. Baleful crimson light glowed behind their visors, and all of their attention was focused on him, a murmur of cold triumph echoing in their ranks. 

#She will be alone. Defenceless. We will end this.#

He was facing the enemy, part of Nathan thought. For the first time since this had all started, he was face to face with the force behind it all. The shadows responsible for all this death, all this loss.

And he saw, all at once, who and what they were. All those countless centuries of brutal manipulation, of darkness perpetuated in the name of the Shi'ar. The Datasong sang through him, the cold mathematics of galactic dominance, and he saw their goal: the Imperium ascendant, unchallenged and strong. Humanity's flame extinguished before it could shine more brightly, all to satisfy the Fraternity of Raptors and their icy, voracious hunger for an orderly galaxy. A Shi'ar heaven. 

Perfect. And unchanging. 

Somewhere out among the stars, still at an impossible distance, he heard the Phoenix scream in pure, unbridled rage, its very nature rebelling against the _wrongness_ of it. Still too far away, it still reached out to him, and the turbulent fiery sea at the back of his mind went an incandescent white, erupting like the heart of a volcano.

And he _blasted_ Legion away with raw power. Not telekinesis, but the substance of the Phoenix itself. There was no subtlety, nothing but pure force that buffeted the possessed man again and again, keeping him off-balance as the Phoenix repaired Nathan's injuries. 

The overcharge faded as quickly as it come, but his wounds were healed and the air around him burned with all the power he could hold. The Phoenix was still looking out from behind his eyes, its molten rage pouring through him. More perfectly in union with him than it had ever been before.

 ** _#We see you,#_** he snarled, back in the air as the firebird reassembled itself around him. It swelled into immensity, its energy patterns hardening into armor. **#You should have stayed hidden. Don't you understand what you're fighting? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO DIE BEFORE YOU UNDERSTAND IT'S NOT GOING TO TAKE?#**

This was war. This was what he was meant to do, the reason that the Phoenix had come to him in the first place, so that he could stand between Hope and harm. So that he could set the Fraternity's cold heaven afire.

#We will end you. You cannot beat us. You are one man. We are an army,# the shadows told him.

**_#THEN BURN TOGETHER!#_ **

He and Legion went for each other in the same moment, energy attacks of countless types coming at him. They didn't penetrate the firebird, but the cumulative force staggered him enough to create an opening for the other mutant's telekinesis to reach out to grab him. Space folded around them as Legion, or rather, the Raptors puppeting him, blinked them in and out of reality. 

They were over New York. London. San Francisco. Washington. Rio. The tundra. The desert. The open ocean. Each time they stopped, the shadows in Legion's mind manifested a new attack, and Nathan couldn't counter all of them. Claws slashed open the firebird again and bolts of electricity penetrated the cracks. Flame, real flame sheathed the Phoenix's psionic fire and superheated the air, and that took more healing to counter, to restore his lungs to working order for a second time. 

But he landed attacks of his own, plenty of them. Phoenix-amplified telekinesis tore at Legion, and it didn't matter if the pain was reflected right back at him because he wasn't feeling it, not with this much of the Phoenix's power flowing through him. He alternated massive sledgehammer blows with more precise strikes, and Legion's body jerked and spasmed as internal organs started to shut down from the damage. One of the possessed personalities was a healer, but it couldn't keep up with the pace of the damage being inflicted. Nathan started to alternate the telekinetic strikes with telepathic attacks, blasts of psychic fire scouring that wide-open mind. Possessed personalities screamed as they withered into ash.

Montreal. Paris. Moscow. The ocean again. The Australian outback. Berlin. Dubai. Salem Center. They tumbled through the skies of Earth like two comets, fatally tangled. 

And then there was a third.


	26. Darker Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fraternity of Raptors discovers that it has miscalculated. Badly.

As Alex came through the stepping disc, he didn't let himself react to what he was seeing. It wasn't that much of a shock; he'd seen the mansion destroyed before, more times than he could count. He'd never seen Logan's school the way it should look. These were just ruins, ruins that had become all too familiar over the years. All that mattered right now was finding survivors and getting them out of here before Legion could come back and finish the job. 

He opened his mouth, but Betsy beat him to it. #In the shelter,# she sent rapidly, images of Kitty and some of the other staff members tending injured students and pulling others out from under the rubble. #Magik, get us down there!#

Illyana didn't hesitate. The next stepping disc opened up around the four of them, and an instant later they were in the damaged shelter, the sky visible through the shattered roof and the gaping hole in the earth. As deeply as this shelter had been buried, Legion had still managed to reach it somehow. Didn't really matter how, Alex told himself, taking a deep breath and moving as soon as his feet were on solid ground again. 

"Kitty!" He headed for her, to coordinate. No need to give the others orders; Betsy darted immediately towards the rubble, her butterfly power-signature flaring around her head as she started to scan, and Colossus was right behind her, moving to help Joanna Cargill lift away the larger pieces of debris. Across the shelter, Illyana appeared beside Remy where he and Jono Starsmore bent over a prone student, and after a moment's assessment, she and the injured youngster disappeared in a flash. All according to plan; they'd already established where the seriously injured needed to go. 

Kitty, helping Idie Okonkwo to her feet, looked around at his shout, relief breaking over her expression. "Alex, we've got to get them out," she said urgently as she steadied the dazed girl. " _All_ of them, right now. I don't think the shelter's stable, Legion was creating earthquakes-" She flinched as more dirt cascaded down through the holes in the roof.

It only took a glance around at the state of the place for him to agree with her assessment. "I think speed is of the essence, yes." He'd been hoping to give Illyana the chance to evac the more seriously injured first, but it seemed like they weren't going to have that luxury. "Pixie," Alex said into his com, "I need you here right-" 

Megan appeared before he'd finished his sentence, as if she'd already been on her way. Probably had; Emma was coordinating, moving their scarce resources to where they were most necessary. Alex nodded curtly at the young woman. "Start getting the ambulatory out to the safehouse," he went on rapidly. "Illyana's got the seriously injured."

"Got it!" Pixie focused immediately on Idie, as the closest who fit the description of 'ambulatory', and the two girls disappeared together. Alex turned to Kitty, who nodded jerkily at him, as if to approve his plan. She was ashen-pale beneath the dirt and holding her arm. Alex grimaced at the look of her shoulder. He'd seen dislocated shoulders often enough to recognize them.

"Did you want me to-"

"Yes. Tried to put it back in myself, didn't quite manage it." Kitty cried out through gritted when he popped her shoulder back into place, tears coursing silently down her cheeks. "Good," she said, her voice still trying to break. "Now. Triage."

"Right." They hurried over to help Remy, Alex refraining from any further explanations for the time being. There simply wasn't time. After triage, they got the rest of the ambulatory students organized into groups - easier for the teleporters that way - and then pitched in to help free the last of those who'd been trapped. It took too long, and part of what was left of the roof caved in before they were through, nearly burying Betsy and Joanna as they pulled Karma's brother Leong out from the rubble.

Still, only half a dozen serious injuries, Alex reflected as Illyana disappeared with Leong and an unconscious Julian Keller. Not nearly as bad as it could have been. As it had been, elsewhere. 

Pixie brought the rest of them back above ground in a group, and in the same moment that they rematerialized, the sky above them lit up as twin comets streaked across the sky. The sonic boom collapsed more of the shelter's roof, and if Pixie hadn't deposited them well clear of the edge, they might have had a real problem. Legion and Nathan disappeared in a blinding white flash of light, as quickly as they'd appeared, and Alex's jaw clenched as he reminded himself there wasn't a damned thing he could do to help. Not unless the two of them stopped for a moment, and even then, his chances weren't good. The fact that the fight was still ongoing even with the Phoenix's involvement did not bode well at all.

"Where's this safehouse?" Kitty asked doggedly, as if she was forcing herself to focus. "And where did Illyana take the kids who were injured? I've got to-" She swayed, and Alex swore as he steadied her.

"Maine," Alex said shortly, listening in his earpiece to reports from the other teams as he checked her for other injuries. "It's one of Emma's. Off the grid completely, just like the ones they were using after Utopia was hit. The injured are going to Mount Sinai."

"Did SHIELD call ahead?"

"Hard to do that when SHIELD headquarters is gone," Betsy said, coughing to clear her throat of dust as she joined them. Kitty stared at her for a moment, almost uncomprehendingly. "Avengers Tower was hit, too. So was the Baxter Building."

Kitty glanced at him, as if seeking confirmation, and Alex nodded brusquely. "Legion was teleporting. Maybe even timesliding." He'd hit too many places too fast; there weren't many other feasible explanations. "If Nathan can't finish him off, we're screwed. Kitty, I think Magik should-"

"Take me to the hospital? I want her to do that as soon as she gets back," Kitty said harshly, pulling away from him. "Send Remy and Joanna to this safehouse; I need to be with the kids who can't speak for themselves right now."

* * *

Crisis situations made for strange bedfellows, but Steve had never expected to find himself being rescued by the Master of Magnetism. He'd regained consciousness trapped under debris too heavy for him to shift, and in enough pain that he'd blacked out trying. As he'd struggled back out of the darkness, Steve heard Wanda calling his name, pleading with him to open his eyes. He hated to hear her that upset. Bad things happened when Wanda panicked. So he forced his eyes open, just in time to see the familiar silver-haired figure standing behind her gesture sharply. Then the weight on top of him was shifting away, lifting straight up so that it wouldn't do any more damage.

"What's happening?" he mumbled, biting back a groan of pain as Wanda put pressure on his side. His vision wouldn't quite clear - there was blood running into his eyes from somewhere - but even with the lights off and the smoke hanging in the air, he was pretty sure he wasn't in the conference room anymore. At least one level below where he'd been, he thought dimly. Looking up to see the gaping hole that had been the ceiling only confirmed that hypothesis. 

"David Haller," Wanda said, her face pale beneath the dirt. "David Haller happened."

 _Legion._ He'd read the files, of course. Steve tried to sit up, only for Wanda to reach out with her free hand and push him in the other direction, very firmly. "You're bleeding very badly, Steve," she said, her voice low and worried. "You need to stay still. Father?"

"Medical assistance is on its way," Magneto said brusquely. "They're working their way upwards as quickly as they can. Stay with him, Wanda. I'll search for others who need assistance." Icy blue eyes flickered to Steve, narrowing. "If his condition worsens, Emma is listening and can expedite matters."

"Magneto, wait-" Steve said, or tried to say. He wound up coughing instead, and by that time Magneto was already rising through the air, floating up through the hole in the ceiling. When he got his breath back, Steve bit back a wheezing curse, slumping back against the rubble. "Wanda... have to get a h-handle on the situation," he muttered doggedly, only growing more disoriented as he tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes and the room seemed to lurch around him, his head spinning sickly. "I was... talking to Tony, and-"

"SHIELD headquarters was hit, as well," Wanda said, her voice low. "More than once. The Baxter Building, as well. And Logan's school." She swallowed visibly, looking almost ill, then leaned closer, using both hands to put pressure on his side. "There may have been other targets," she murmured, "but we're not certain yet."

"Why-" He raised a hand, feebly, as the whole world seemed to light up, the air burning white-gold. Wanda gasped and bent over him, as if to shield him. He didn't know what she was doing, or trying to do, or whether it would do any good at all. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, and he felt like he was breathing in liquid fire, like everything was burning. 

And then it was gone. Gasping, Wanda straightened, and he blinked up uncomprehendingly at her as she wiped blood from her nose. "It's happening again." She sounded dazed, almost lost. "Legion's going to kill him. It's all... it's all going according to plan."

Steve tried to say something, to ask her what the hell she meant by that, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. Wanda's face seemed to be at the end of a dark tunnel, growing further and further away by the moment. 

His last coherent thought was that he was colder, colder than he could remember being since the ice.

* * *

Emma was beginning to wonder if her brain was actually going to explode inside her skull. Perhaps it already had; the pain was so all-encompassing that it was hard to tell. Staying in contact with the X-Men and Avengers at the other sites Legion had targeted was like trying to swim through burning oil. The whole astral plane seemed to be on fire, and Legion and Nathan were still bouncing across the world like deranged ping-pong balls, scorching it even more deeply in their wake. If they kept this up, if the stalemate wasn't broken, even the headblind would begin to feel it soon.

She stumbled and familiar arms went around here, steadying her. "Sit down for a second," she heard Scott say tightly as he guided her to the remains of a wall. 

Around them, what was left of SHIELD headquarters continued to burn. In that first desperate rush to respond, the two of them had headed for the burning hangars and done what they could. She'd been already setting up her telepathic switchboard and hadn't had much telepathic concentration to spare, but she'd managed to use it to locate the injured where they were trapped. Scott, along with the flight mechanics and other SHIELD personnel who'd been lucky enough to be outside when the firestorm had hit, had worked to free them. Despite their best efforts, there'd been less than two dozen survivors from inside the hangars, half of them critically injured.

Still, they'd had a better chance than their comrades elsewhere in the complex. Most of the main building was at the bottom of a massive sinkhole. There certainly had been times that she herself had cherished ill feelings towards SHIELD, Emma thought half-deliriously, but even so, that had been rather excessive on David's part...

"The school is clear," Emma managed, before Scott could say anything about sending her back to the penthouse where she could play switchboard in peace. She could sense the thought forming in his mind, but she wasn't going to allow that. She needed to be with him, to pass on his orders as quickly as he gave them. Nor was she willing to let Scott out of her sight, with Xavier's son on a rampage. "The Baxter Building-" Her mind reeled away, yet again, from the reality of what had happened there.

Not all of the mutants Hope had repowered had been housed on the floors that had taken the brunt of Legion's attack. Just most of them.

It seemed so foolish now, such an appalling strategic mistake. But the repowered mutants _had_ needed to be monitored for a time to make sure that no one suffered any ill effects from the Phoenix's intervention. Many of them had volunteered for additional tests, to help Hank and Reed and Nemesis gather as much information as possible on how the repowering process had worked for different types of mutants. Everyone knew what was coming when the firebird arrived and how critical that information might turn out to be.

Emma choked back the grief and rage threatening to shatter her telepathic switchboard and told herself to concentrate. They couldn't have known. It wasn't as if they'd been entirely naive; the plan had been to scatter the non-combatant mutants to the winds forty-eight hours before the armada's arrival, to maximize their chances of survival. The Cerebro device at the school would have been destroyed at the same time. It had been a sensible plan. They simply couldn't have expected this.

She flinched as she brushed against Hope's thoughts. The girl was focused on digging out survivors from the ruins, but her mind was burning almost as brightly as her father's, white-hot like the heart of a star. She was on the verge of a killing rage, and Emma didn't have it in her to try and talk her down.

"What's the situation there? Emma?"

Just like she didn't have it in her to tell Scott. Not now, at least, with Legion still out there. Scott had to stay focused; they couldn't afford to have him reacting out of anger or guilt.

"The Baxter Building? Evacuation is... ongoing. I can find Hank, but not Nemesis. No," Emma corrected herself harshly as she saw the truth in Hank's mind, "James is dead." She could see his body through Hank and Reed's eyes both.

Scott's hand tightened on her shoulder almost spasmodically. " _Damn_ it. Tell Magik to get back here and pick us up," he said roughly. "I need to be at Avengers Tower. Namor and Logan have the recovery efforts under control here-"

"You're wrong. Nothing is under control. Not anywhere." Emma put her hands to her temples, trying not to gasp aloud as the pain in her head swelled to a crescendo of warning.

The burst of light from above was like the flash of a nuclear explosion. Nathan and Legion appeared high in the sky above them, streaking towards the horizon like twin comets. Scott swore and bore her to the ground, shielding her with his body as the shockwave tore through the ruins, whipping up the flames and sending debris flying. From elsewhere in the complex, Emma heard more explosions. More screaming, with her ears and mind alike. 

Then the two combatants blinked out, gone again just as suddenly as they'd appeared. Breathing hard, Scott stayed where he was, still pinning her to the ground. For a moment she thought he might have been hit by a piece of debris, but – no, that was realization that had frozen him in place, not pain.

She saw it. She shared it. #Nathan can't beat him alone, Scott. He can't.# It was almost a redundant thing to say. Because she knew what the solution was, what Scott's decision would be. What it would _have_ to be, despite the insane risk. 

So she was already reaching out to Hope when Scott proved yet again how well she knew him. 

"Then tell Hope." Scott hauled himself back to his feet, pulling her along with him. His voice was harsh but perfectly steady, as if he wasn't about to send the last hope for their species against the most dangerous mutant alive. "Tell her to get up there and help her father kill the bastard."

* * *

Things were not going as planned, David thought dimly, retreating from the pain that was increasingly impinging on his mental refuge. The Raptors were failing. They had been so sure that they could stop Cable, that his death was a foregone conclusion once he was lured into the fight. He was only a psi, after all. Even with his powers enhanced by the Phoenix force, he should have been no match for the sheer range and versatility of David's powers. 

But he _was_. Impossibly, he was. They might be locked in a stalemate, but that wouldn't last, and David thought the Raptors knew it. Every bit of damage they were managing to do to Cable was being repaired in an instant, as if the Phoenix was simply rebuilding its host. Cable didn't seem to even feel the pain. He kept hammering away at David's body, doing just as much damage of his own, and the Raptor possessing David's healer-personality was laboring to keep up and failing. 

_You promised me,_ David cried at the Raptors, hearing the petulance in his voice and hating it. _You promised me that I would be safe—_

And the Raptor collective, instead of answering, screamed. The Datasong _exploded_ from within, the smooth flow of equations shattering as countless new variables appeared, limned in fire. The future the Fraternity had so carefully crafted was gone in an instant, irretrievably broken. The timestream was once again a raging river of possibilities, even more turbulent and unpredictable than before, as if defying the Fraternity's attempt to contain it.

It wasn't anything Cable had done, David realized, reeling as the shock and pain penetrated to the core of his consciousness. No, it was a catastrophic shift, something completely unpredicted. 

It was the _second_ firebird rocketing upwards to join the fight. The Raptors had been so wrong, wrong on every level. He'd been a fool to trust them. They'd underestimated Cable badly, and they'd been convinced that the X-Men would keep their young messiah out of the fight until the bitter end. And yet, here Hope was, about to—

 ** _#GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY FATHER!#_** Grief and hatred and protective fury battered David like galeforce winds as Hope slammed into him. **_#Murderer,#_** she hissed in his mind as fiery talons seized his body, shaking him viciously. **_#Murdering bastard, you're going to burn for what you did-#_**

In her mind, the Baxter Building burned and the newly repowered mutants screamed as they burned with it. There was so much sheer anguished emotion in the memory that it was almost an attack of its own – and one that was particularly effective against beings who had no defense against such strong emotion. Stunned by the force of her projection, the Raptors started to lose their grip on Cable, who immediately wrenched himself free, his firebird spinning back toward David and lashing out with another one of those punishing telekinetic attacks. The Raptor collective tried to use David's telekinesis to shield, but they were slow, clumsy. There were too many personalities missing, burned away by Phoenix fire; things were out of balance, all askew.

Then Hope was reaching for him, and _not_ into his mind. Her power was everywhere, infiltrating every cell of his body down to the molecular level. Changing him. Shutting him down, personality by personality. Individual Raptors screamed as their borrowed mutant powers were burned out one by one, starting with the most dangerous, with the reality-warping powers they had avoided using for fear of unbalancing their carefully crafted future. There was no defense, nothing in his armory of powers that could stop a Phoenix-powered mutant with absolute control over the mutant genome. As Hope shut down his powers, Cable started to burn away the residual personalities and the Raptors with them, scorching every corner of David's mind with an implacable thoroughness.

 _Stop! I'm sorry! Please!_ he screamed desperately as his internal world shriveled into ash. But he was helpless to stop them; he'd given over all control to the Raptors, traded away his power for peace inside his own mind. And now the Raptors were dying, burning away. The Phoenix was making a desert, a desert of glass, and calling it peace.

#Poor David.#

He knew that voice. It was the voice of a dead woman. Jean Grey, or a simulacrum of her, strode out of the mass of burning, thrashing Raptors. They _melted_ away from her, like fog burned away by the sun. 

#Not quite what you planned, is it?# she asked, glowing with the Phoenix's fire. The eyes that met his were white-hot, incandescent and utterly inhuman. There was no pity there, no mercy at all. #You traded your soul for safety. For stasis.#

The inferno roared higher around her, flame shifting from red-gold to pure white, and David Haller realized that he was alone. One, not many. 

#Ask me how I feel about stasis,# the Phoenix said. #Goodbye, David.#

* * *

For a moment, there was a second sun above the North Atlantic. Then, as it faded, two great firebirds folded their wings and dove, vanishing in another flash of light. There was no time to contemplate the life they'd taken, not when so many others still hung in the balance.

And the ash that had been David Haller blew away on the wind.


	27. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Legion's attack, plans change. The Avengers make a choice and join the X-Men, to prepare to make a final stand in the last place anyone would expect. But one of the Phoenix hosts isn't doing so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay on this chapter. It is, as we teacher-types like to call it, 'that time' of term.

He was lost. His mind was unstuck in time, and he couldn't close the door he'd forced open, couldn't make it stop. Part of Nathan was still coherent enough to know that he had to do _something_ , that he was slipping dangerously close to madness. Past, present, and future were tangled together in his mind, branch points exploding everywhere he looked. Hopelessly snarly. Hopeless. Hope-less. Where was Hope?

_...where am I?_

It didn't help that the Phoenix was burning white-hot, wave after endless wave of fire surging through him. The Phoenix knew its enemy now, and it was still in a killing rage, so overwhelming that it seared away what was left of Nathan's focus. Unable to concentrate, he was lost in the roar of the timestream, his consciousness battered back and forth by forces that even the Phoenix couldn't buffer him against. What had been and what would be had become a single, all-encompassing _now_. 

He didn't know where he was. He was everywhere and everywhen at once.He was tumbling through the skies, locked in his stalemate with Legion. Destroying the Shi'ar warbirds over New York. Stumbling through a nuclear winter with Blaquesmith. Training Hope on Utopia's beach. Lifting the remains of an aircraft carrier out of the water at Norfolk. Waiting in Jupiter's orbit, watching the Shi'ar fleet approach. 

Diving into the heart of Chandilar's sun, angry and _hungry_...

#...hear me? Nathan?#

He was... watching unconscious X-Men in inhibitor collars and restraints being loaded into the back of a truck by soldiers in gas masks. That brought him up short, but as soon as he tried to grasp at that moment, that branch point, his consciousness was trapped in that possible future as it flowed towards the point of no return. In that moment, it was utterly real. 

He was standing back to back with Hope, Sentinels coming at them from all directions. _Pointless,_ he thought as he incinerated them in mid-flight, _so flonqing pointless, all of this!_ And he could feel himself slipping, his anger growing darker and darker...

#Dad? Dad, please, you've got to focus-#

The first voice – _Emma_ , he thought – hadn't pulled him back from the brink, but Hope's did. She always would, Nathan thought and reached out for her blindly. Back from the brink. Back from the dead. Whatever it took. She took his hand, squeezing so tightly that he could feel the Phoenix's fire seething beneath her skin.

Someone else was kneeling on his other side, a different but equally familiar hand resting on the back of his neck. "Come on, Nate," Scott said. "Come back to us. We need you too much for you to lose it now." His voice was tense and exhausted, but his presence was steady. An anchor, just like Hope.

" _Slym._ " His own voice was a whisper, lost amid the Phoenix's thunder. Still floundering, Nathan tried again to find that branch point that led to the Sentinels, needing to see it clearly. There'd been no other X-Men there. Just him and Hope. What had happened? What was _going_ to happen? He caught it, but only for an instant before it slipped through his fingers and he was falling back into the timestream.

Still, it was long enough to recognize the truck's location as the rubble-choked street outside Avengers Tower. 

Only one way to interpret that, and Nathan managed to find his voice again. " _Evacuate. Everyone. Someplace safe..._ "

"What?" Shock gripped Scott's thoughts for only a moment before they snapped back to intense, urgent focus. "Tell me what the threat is, Nathan. What's coming?"

" _Things fall apart. Things are... falling apart, already. We just can't see them through the smoke._ " Nathan tried to straighten and only then realized that he was on his hands and knees on broken pavement. He looked up and saw the Baxter Building, whole floors charred and shattered. He had no idea how he'd gotten here, or when. " _We have to leave. We're not the enemy, and we can't let ourselves be._ "

Then Emma was kneeling in the rubble in front of him, the White Queen turned grey with soot and dirt. The thought wasn't an entirely sane one, he knew. 

#Focus for me,# she sent, reaching out to take his face between her hands. Nathan shuddered as that cool, precise presence slipped into his mind, past shields blown out by the pressure of trying to contain the uncontainable.

A mindscape he barely recognized as his own took shape around them. Emma gasped and raised a hand in instinctive self-defense as the future poured through the hole he'd blown in his mind like glowing rainbow-hued water through a shattered dyke. 

_Desperate times make for desperate measures, I suppose, but you're lucky you didn't kill yourself,_ she sent with obvious difficulty as the flood battered them both.

Nathan didn't respond. The water was up to their knees already, and he could see things in it. Sentinels. X-Men lying dead. Avengers being arrested. Things were going to fall apart, and the only way through was—

_Nathan, focus!_

The hole in the wall was icing over, he realized once he turned his attention back to what Emma was doing. No – not ice. Diamond. He stood beside her, watching the diamond wall slowly turn opaque as she wove it into the fabric of his mind with a master's skill. 

_There,_ Emma sent to him, her mental voice heavy with weariness. She rested diamond hands against the wall, her astral form shimmering with fatigue. _That should do. I think we'd all be much happier if you kept what's left of your sanity for the next few days, Nathan. You have rather a lot to do._

The water around their feet was evaporating into steam as the flames pressed closer. Nathan glanced over his shoulder and saw the red-haired figure standing in the fire, watching him. _Redd_ , he thought wistfully, but he couldn't be sure. She had no face. 

_Now,_ Emma said, still leaning against the wall. She didn't seem to sense their watcher, and Nathan thought it might be best not to draw her attention to it. Her. _Tell me what you saw. Coherently, this time, instead of quoting Yeats._

* * *

To say that things were tense at the White House would be putting it mildly. Given that Legion's attack was barely forty-eight hours in the past and recovery efforts were still underway, it was only to be expected. But there was an undertone here that Steve couldn't help but notice, something in the body language of the Secret Service agents (and the looks he was getting) that put him on edge. His presence here was not entirely welcome; that much was clear.

Even so, he was escorted into the Oval Office to see the President right away. Once the door closed, despite the crowd that had been in the outer office, it was just the two of them and a pair of Secret Service agents doing their best to blend in with the furniture.

"Commander," the President greeted him, his expression grave. "Thank you for coming. Have you been able to make any headway since we spoke?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," Steve said, more briskly than regretfully. "The X-Men are gone. All of them. Even those who are also Avengers, like Doctor McCoy. They seem to have departed sometime in the early hours of the morning, once they'd done everything they could to assist with the recovery efforts."

The President gave him a pensive look. "I see."

"They did leave a message with Doctor Richards," Steve went on. "Their reasoning was that they couldn't in good conscience stay in such close proximity to major population centers. It makes sense. As you know, the plan was to move to one of the more isolated SHIELD facilities once the Shi'ar fleet was close." He stopped, swallowing hard, but his voice was level as he continued. "I take full responsibility for not foreseeing the possibility of an attack before then."

But the President was already shaking his head. "Sit down, Commander," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite the desk. His eyes locked on Steve's, intent and slightly narrowed. "You look to be in some discomfort, if not as much as I would have expected. I'd understood your injuries to be more serious."

Steve took the indicated chair; he _was_ still sore, although he'd been trying not to let on. "They're manageable, sir."

They hadn't been until several hours ago. He had been drifting in a pain-wracked doze in a corner of the Tower infirmary when a flash of blue light had deposited two mutants in the narrow space between his bed and the curtain that the medics had set up to give him some privacy. 

One of the visitors had been Josh Foley. Steve had made it clear earlier that day that he wasn't prepared to jump any lines until the young healer had seen to the most critically injured. But his _other_ visitor hadn't given him the option of saying no.

"That's good." The President leaned back in his chair, the fingers of one hand drumming lightly but rapidly on the arm of his chair. It was a nervous mannerism that Steve had noticed before. "I do appreciate that the X-Men are taking proactive measures to try and prevent any further collateral damage," he went on, choosing his words with obvious care, "but the timing is unfortunate. A consensus is emerging in certain quarters that we need to find a solution to the Phoenix problem _before_ the Shi'ar fleet arrives. I've heard from a number of... very forceful voices over the last twelve hours. Their argument is that we can't allow ourselves to be intimidated into actions against our national interest because we're afraid of two cosmically-empowered mutants."

Steve felt a chill at the confirmation of what he had still hoped wasn't true. "Those voices have been there all along, sir," he said steadily. "But I thought we'd reached a general consensus that no such solution exists."

 _Someone somewhere is going to do something foolish,_ Illyana Rasputin had said as Foley had turned his attention to healing Steve's injuries. Her voice had been soft, almost a deadly whisper. Steve had gotten the definite impression that she was displeased with a great many things. _Someone has leverage, perhaps, or is willing to go rogue. Someone with access to Sentinels. We don't know the details. All we know, all Cable was able to tell us for certain, is that we're about to become the enemy, and drag your Avengers down with us. None of us can afford that._

"We had. _We_ had," the President said. The emphasis was slight, but noticeable. "But after the sheer scope of the losses we suffered yesterday, our understanding of the situation is not the only one that matters."

Steve straightened in his chair, meeting his commander-in-chief's gaze squarely. He might not be sure who was making this lethally stupid arugment (although he could make several educated guesses), but he'd known this man for a while now. Unless he was misreading him badly, the President did _not_ want to see any 'solution' implemented.

"Tell me what you need, sir," he said quietly, hoping he was correct.

"I need to—no," the President corrected himself sharply. "I assume that this message the X-Men left with Doctor Richards was short on specifics, or you would have said otherwise. So. What's their most logical destination?"

One didn't win a presidential election without knowing how to pick one's words very carefully. "Genosha," Steve said after a moment's consideration. It was an honest answer—to the very precise question that had been asked. "It makes the most sense. Familiar ground, and no civilian population to endanger. They can still lure the Shi'ar there without worrying about collateral damage. I imagine they'll stick as closely to our original strategy as possible."

 _You need to make a choice,_ Illyana had said, _you and the Avengers. The saner elements of the American government need us to be elsewhere, where the simple-minded can't be distracted from their own defense by the prospect of appeasing the Shi'ar with our corpses. But_ we _still need you, Rogers. You and the Avengers. Are you ready to keep the promise you gave Hope?_

The President stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll speak to Director Hill," he said. "I understand the manpower challenges under the current circumstances, but I want SHIELD investigative teams on their way to Genosha as soon as possible." He gave Steve a thin smile. "No one will argue with the need for reconnaissance before any sort of response is launched. If they do, I have faith that cooler heads will prevail. "

 _I'll speak to Director Hill._ Again, a deliberate choice of words. Steve nodded slowly, knowing perfectly well what was coming.

"Commander..." The President paused, a definite look of regret in his eyes, but as he continued there was no hesitation in his words. "I think it would be for the best if you gave me your resignation here today. I do _not_ blame you for what happened, let me make that abundantly clear. But some have questioned your ability to see the bigger picture."

It still stung, even though Steve knew it was an out. Especially since he had made the choices he had in the service of the biggest picture of all. But he wasn't being fired, Steve reminded himself doggedly, not really. He was being freed.

"You have it, sir," he said, more softly. 

"Thank you. I'm sorrier than I can say that it's come to this. As far as I'm concerned, you have served your country with honor in everything you've done in this position," the President said, his eyes locked on Steve's. "I fully expect you to continue doing so, in your role with the Avengers. You don't need the whole security apparatus of this country behind you to make a difference, Steven. You've proven that time and time again." He smiled faintly, almost sadly, but his gaze was still steady. "I trust your judgement. That hasn't changed. I may be giving you your walking papers today, but I trust you every bit as much as I did the day I asked you to take this job. I have faith you'll do the right thing."

 _Yes,_ Steve had said to Illyana, trying not to gasp out the words as flesh healed and bones knitted under Foley's touch. _Yes. I'll keep my promise._

_Then meet us back at the beginning,_ she'd said, softly mocking. _Back where it all started._

"Thank you, sir," Steve said to the President, and managed a tight smile. "I do appreciate that."

The conversation wasn't over, of course. There were details involved in Steve's resignation that had to be discussed, the transition at SHIELD being the most important of them. All of it was pro forma, of course. Steve didn't intend to be there to assist in the transition, and he suspected the President was perfectly aware of that. But the formalities had to be observed.

Still, it wasn't long before he was rising and shaking hands with the President, who wished him luck with a quiet fierceness that put to rest any doubts Steve might have had that the man knew what his next move was likely to be. Steve thanked him, just as sincerely. Whatever had happened here for public consumption, he'd gotten the message. He'd been given his freedom.

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. 

_Genosha?_ he'd asked Illyana. It was the obvious answer. The logical answer. Genosha, where Wanda had gone insane and decimated mutantkind. 

_No,_ Illyana had retorted, almost contemptuously. _Not that ill-omened graveyard where it all ended, Rogers. Where it_ began, _I said._

* * *

It took him longer than he would have liked to get back to Avengers Tower. Airspace restrictions were still in effect in New York, and in any case, he was no longer in a position to request door-to-door helicopter service from SHIELD. Nor did he want to draw undue attention to himself. There'd be enough people wondering about his next move as it was.

On the bright side, the delay meant that the team was assembled and waiting for him by the time he arrived and donned his own gear. He'd given Tony a heads-up, just in case he didn't make it back from the White House in time—or at all. In hindsight, that possibility had probably been a slim one, but he hadn't wanted to rule it out.

The team was much smaller than he could have liked. They'd lost people here at the Tower - Daisy, Danny Rand, Noh-Varr - and too many others were injured seriously enough that they couldn't fight. Even half the team here was walking wounded to one degree or another. _The X-Men are probably more combat-capable than we are at the moment._ Given how much longer the other team had been taking the hits in this situation, that was almost embarassing.

Steve had considered calling in some of the reserve members, but in the end had decided against it. They couldn't be sure that the Shi'ar would head straight for the X-Men. If they launched any sort of diversionary attacks, the reserve Avengers might be needed where they were. He only hoped he wouldn't regret hedging his bets once what was left of the Shi'ar fleet landed on them. 

"So," Steve said, grimacing at the twinge of pain in his arm as he lifted his shield. The bones in that arm had been shattered; Foley had muttered something about jigsaw puzzles as he'd worked on it. "I have officially been fired by the President."

"Oh happy day," Clint said dryly, and winced as he got an elbow in the ribs from Jessica for his attempt at wit. "I mean, sorry to hear that, Steve. Really."

"Fired, or 'fired'?" Carol asked quietly, her eyes intent on Steve's face. She was probably in the best shape of any of the Avengers who'd actually been at the Tower yesterday. She'd also been the first to agree that they should join the X-Men. _Whatever the consequences,_ she'd said. _I'd go on my own, if it came to that._

"The latter. He's under pressure from somewhere," Steve said, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice but not quite managing it, "but he's not on-board with it. Means the X-Men probably did the right thing, removing themselves from the equation."

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it _had_ been a solid strategic choice. Fighting amongst themselves was the best way to hand the Shi'ar victory on a silver platter. The X-Men pulling another disappearing act before things could get to that point didn't conclusively prevent whatever future Cable had seen, but it did delay it. And the Shi'ar were so close that all they really needed was the delay.

"The right thing for the American government," Natasha observed from where she was checking her weapons. She was moving stiffly enough that Steve wondered if she really ought to be here, but he knew better than to press the point. "Not necessarily the right thing for mutantkind," she went on, her voice sharp. "Or for the human race in the long term. But if the Shi'ar overwhelm us and Hope dies with the job undone, I'm sure future generations will forgive us for being respectful of American domestic politics when the Celestials come calling."

Steve couldn't help a brief smile at the way she said 'American domestic politics' like the phrase was a profanity. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tony got there before him. 

"Her chances of finishing the job are better if she and the X-Men aren't fighting a war on two fronts," Tony said, not looking up from the console where he was working steadily. Making some last adjustments to the control systems for the orbital minefields, if Steve had to guess. Tony was wearing his armor, but with the faceplate retracted, and Steve noted that the bruises on his face were markedly more colorful than they had been when Tony had visited him in the infirmary yesterday. "Besides, what's done is done, Tasha. We've got to deal with the situation as it is, and I for one welcome the lack of additional complications."

"We have a primal and unpredictable cosmic force fighting beside us," Thor rumbled, sounding far more subdued than Steve was used to hearing him. He lifted Mjolnir, broad shoulders slumping for a moment before he rose. "I fear we will face unforeseen complications in abundance." 

The Red Hulk snorted loudly at that, but kept his mouth shut at Thor's warning look. Thor eyed him for a moment longer, then nodded as if in approval and offered the other man a hand up. The alarming thing was that Ross took it, and Steve tried not to grimace too noticeably. Neither of them looked particularly steady. Legion had done a real number on both of them; if they had been anyone but an Asgardian and a Hulk, he'd have killed them. There were limits to any regenerative ability, but they had both insisted they were ready to fight. Steve might have chosen to trust them on that – he couldn't afford to leave two of his strongest Avengers home if he could avoid it – but that didn't mean he didn't worry. 

"Why would our luck change at this point?" Luke asked with a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck. The dullness in his eyes worried Steve, too. Having been at the mansion during Legion's attack, Luke had escaped injury, but he'd taken Danny's death as hard as Steve would have expected. "The Shi'ar are almost here, right?"

"Twenty-four hours, tops," Tony said, finally turning away from the console. "I've got the satellite feeds slaved to my onboard AI. As soon as they come through the stargate, we'll know."

"So let's do this. I don't like the idea of my great-great grandkids' great-grandkids burning along with the planet because we didn't stand up when the time came," Luke said more harshly, squaring his shoulders. "Besides. The Shi'ar deserve everything they're going to get, and I intend to be there to see it." 

As the general murmur of agreement passed through the assembled Avengers, Doctor Strange materialized in the center of the room. Steve nodded to him, but Strange glanced around with a raised eyebrow. "I was expecting to have to make two trips," he said pensively. "Is this everyone?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Steve said grimly as those who'd still been sitting down got up and moved closer to one another, to make things easier for Strange. "If you can bring us in just outside the town limits, I think that would be for the best. The X-Men might be expecting us, but we don't know what kind of perimeter they've established. I'd rather not pop in on top of someone with already-frayed nerves."

"Town limits?" he heard Clint say. "Remind me to remind you to pay up, Stark. I told you it wasn't Genosha."

Tony's reply, whatever it might have been, was lost as Strange cast his teleportational spell and Avengers Tower disintegrated into glittering light around them. When the light faded, they were somewhere else, standing together in the middle of an empty road. 

Beside them was the town sign, charred but still readable. Steve heard someone swear softly; Clint, he thought. 

_Welcome to Cooperstown,_ the sign read. Steve stared at the ruins of the town where Hope Summers had been born, the town that had been destroyed by Purifiers within hours of her birth. He couldn't help but remember what Illyana had said about ill omens.

* * *

When he'd agreed that they should pull out of New York and make their stand somewhere that they could see the Shi'ar coming, Logan had known it would mean all hands on deck. Kitty had insisted on staying with the injured kids, but the rest of the X-Men from the school were here. It meant leaving the uninjured kids to their own devices at Emma's safehouse, but the place was a hundred miles from Nowhere, Wyoming. Not much potential for getting into mischief.

Or so he'd figured, until most of the older kids had refused to _stay_ at the safehouse. The younger ones were still there, of course, and anyone whose powers weren't useful in combat. But pretty much everyone else had come back with Magik and Frenzy, intending to join the fight.

To say he'd been pissed would be putting it mildly, but then, his temper had been on the boil since Legion had hit the school. He was doing his best not to let it get ahead of him, but it was a challenge when a good third of his students had volunteered for a battle no one was convinced could be won. Still, he was more or less in control of himself when he went in search of Scott. 

"More cannon fodder's not the answer to our manpower shortage, Slim," he growled as he stepped into the burned-out police station that Scott had chosen as a command center. Not that there was much here that warranted the title. Jeffries had set up some communication gear, running it through the computers he was using to monitor the various sensors and booby-traps they'd scattered throughout the ruins of Cooperstown, and Hank and Kavita had put together an equally makeshift infirmary. None of them were in evidence right now, which was fine with Logan. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation in front of witnesses.

Scott, sitting in front of one of the screens, didn't look up at him. "Fine," he said, sounding perfectly calm. "You go talk them out of it. Although I'd recommend not referring to them to their faces as 'cannon fodder'. Not unless you want them to stick around just to spite you."

Logan snorted, but sank into the other chair, staring hard at Scott. "It better not have been your idea. Recruiting my students without a damned word to me." This wasn't the time to revisit old differences of opinion. But if the answer was yes and they both made it through this, they were going to have words. 

"I didn't tell Illyana to recruit volunteers," Scott said, glancing up at him. There was no change in his tone or expression; the stone-faced expression that had pissed Logan off so badly those last few months on Utopia was back in spades. "But I'm not going to turn them away now that they're here. Try and see it from their perspective. They don't want to sit at the safehouse and wait for the sky to fall on them. You can try and convince them that they should, but, well. Good luck."

"I might try. At least with a couple of them." Logan let it drop, though. Most of the kids who'd come were Hope's age or nearly, which was going to make convincing them that they were too young to be here an uphill battle. Still, it was his battle to fight, and it _wasn't_ the reason he'd actually come looking for Scott.

"I saw Nate," he said more neutrally. "He ain't doing well."

Scott looked away. "I know," he said, almost distantly. Like he was retreating into his head, trying to avoid the conversation, and Logan's eyes narrowed. He wasn't inclined to let Scott do that. This had to be dealt with.

"Or I could be blunt," he growled, "and say that the Phoenix looks to be eating him alive from the inside out." Scott's eyes snapped back to him, his jaw clenching. Having gotten his attention, Logan made his tone less harsh as he went on. "His scent's hardly there anymore, Scott. I smell fire and ash, and that's pretty much it."

"He's still there," Scott said. The hands resting on his knees clenched into fists. "Emma says he's still there. So does Hope. He's still with us, he's still fighting. I am not going to— _no_ ," he said more sharply when Logan opened his mouth. "We're not talking about this. We're not even _considering_ it. For God's sake, we're about to ask him to do something impossible to save all of us, and you want to sit here and plot how to _take him down_?"

It should have surprised him that Scott could so easily pick up on his intent, after all the water under the bridge in the last year or so. Maybe that meant he was too predictable. "We've got to cover our bases," Logan said, his voice low and hard. Part of him felt like the biggest asshole in the world even bringing this up, but it _had_ to be discussed. Scott, of all people, should know that. "If you're not willing to talk about it, I'll go talk to Frost. She's got something that can stop him cold, if it comes to that—Scott, _listen_ to me," he snapped, his voice still low as Scott shook his head violently, half-rising from his chair. "Maybe he makes it to Jupiter. Maybe he tears through the Shi'ar armada just like we're hoping he does. But what happens if he makes it back here and something's happened to Hope?"

Scott sagged back into his chair, staring at Logan, his expression absolutely unreadable. Logan took a deep breath and went on. "It's one possibility," he said. "One of about a dozen I can think of that'd drive him right over the edge. He's already slipping, Slim. We both know that, and so does he."

There was so much rage and pain in Scott's scent at the moment that Logan half-expected to get an optic blast in the face. But when Scott spoke, his tone was level, almost conversational. The _wrongness_ of that was enough to set Logan's teeth on edge. 

"I understand," Scott said. "I understand perfectly. What it comes down to is that you're not going to be happy until you stab _someone_ hosting the Phoenix." 

"That ain't fair—"

Crimson light flared behind Scott's glasses. "Fuck you. A thousand fucking possibilities for what might happen tomorrow, and you choose to focus on the ones that involve putting my son down like some rabid dog. That's not realism," he said, the anger rising in his voice, "that's not sound strategic planning. That's _you_ , Logan. That's you, not trusting Nathan, because you've _never_ trusted him!"

Logan didn't let the accusation throw him. Didn't try to dispute it, either. _I don't trust him, but it's not his fault_ wasn't exactly a winning argument here. 

"You think I want to talk about this?" he said instead, doggedly. Scott wasn't blasting him, even if he smelled like he was about to lose it. If there was any chance of getting him to face the possibility, to at least think about what to do in the worst-case scenario, Logan had to take it. "He saved every kid at my school from Legion. But you and I have both seen what happens when the Phoenix goes dark. He's a nuke on a countdown, Scott. Who winds up getting hurt is going to depend entirely on where he's standing when the timer hits zero."

* * *

The sun was setting, and in the twilight, Cooperstown looked even more desolate than it had during the day. Wanda shivered, drawing her coat more tightly around her. She'd found shelter in one of the burned out houses, well away from the others. It had been a deliberate choice on her part; she couldn't imagine any scenario in which her company would have been welcome. Her father would return once final plans had been made, he'd promised, but Wanda didn't think that would help much. 

It was this place. She hated being here. It felt like a mass grave, even though she knew that most of the victims of the Purifiers were buried in the cemetery outside the town limits. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the echoes of mothers screaming for their slaughtered children. But then, it was only right that she should be haunted. All of this was her fault. 

Wanda closed her eyes, breathing deeply against the tightness in her chest as she made herself imagine it, put herself in the place of one of the mothers of Cooperstown. Some had survived, she knew, but she rather thought death would have been a mercy. Better than watching your baby burn in his crib and having to live with that seared into your mind for the rest of your days. 

She had done such evil in the name of her own children. Sometimes she wondered why whatever was left of her soul didn't disintegrate under the weight of it.

The sound of charred debris cracking under footsteps drew her out of her pained reverie. Wanda wiped at her eyes and looked up, expecting to see her father. 

"You have... a lot of gall, coming here." Dani Moonstar's voice was level, her expression cold. But the dark eyes that met Wanda's burned with enough heat that by all rights, Wanda should have spontaneously combusted where she sat. "I couldn't believe it when 'Berto told me. Lucky for you he didn't blurt it out where Amara could hear it."

"Amara," Wanda said slowly, not understanding. 

"Yes. My friend Amara. She and her boyfriend opted to explore the inside of a volcano on the wrong damned day." Dani stepped in, one hand resting on the doorframe and her eyes never budging from Wanda's. Her voice was soft but almost vicious as she continued. "She kept her powers. He didn't. Burned to death in front of her. Do you want to hear some of the other stories, Maximoff? Because I have plenty of them. I've made a habit of collecting them. I figured _someone_ should remember the people you killed."

She hadn't managed not to flinch at Dani's words, but Wanda rose, smoothing down her coat and meeting the younger woman's eyes with as much dignity as she could muster. "You lost your powers as well," she said quietly. "If I'm not mistaken?"

"Hope gave them back to me. Healed what you did." Dani folded her arms across her chest, the posture unmistakably confrontational. "That's how she talks about what you did to us, you know. Like it was a wound. Like we've been bleeding out, all this time." A snort of humorless laughter escaped her. "That's when she's not calling it a cage. Which works too. Me, I just call it an atrocity. Might as well cut right to the chase."

She wasn't going to argue with Dani. _Couldn't_ argue with her. Every word she was saying was true, and she had every right to say it. "You're right. You're absolutely right. I won't insult you by trying to apologize," Wanda said steadily. "It wouldn't mean anything if I did."

"You're damned right it wouldn't."

"But what I can do is be here," she went on, before Dani could say anything more. "I can be a part of this fight, I can make a difference-"

"Why do you think you _deserve_ to make a difference?" Dani snapped, but her dark eyes were more assessing than angry, and Wanda found herself remembering that Dani was some sort of empath as that penetrating gaze bored into her. "We need people we can trust fighting beside us tomorrow. People willing to lay down their lives to make sure that our race _has_ a tomorrow. Seems to me that the woman who nearly wiped us out is a strange choice for the job."

"Maybe." If she was being tested, so be it. "But even without the Life Force, I have a great deal of power available to me. I can use it to help protect Hope while she tries to... to fix this horrible thing I did. To fix what _can_ be fixed." She lifted her chin, meeting Dani's eyes unwaveringly. "I'm willing to lay down my life to make sure she can do that. I'm not here looking for absolution. There's no redemption for what I did. I just want to help."

Dani regarded her for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. "You said the right words," she said finally, almost brusquely. "'Protect Hope'. If that's what you're here to do, you do belong here, and I'll say that to anyone who feels otherwise." She smiled tightly. "The only one of us who _has_ to make it through tomorrow is Hope. I'd fight beside anyone who could improve her chances."

 _Even the devil herself,_ went unspoken. Wanda nodded, not breaking eye contact. "I'll do whatever I can," she murmured. "Everything I can."

"That girl-" Dani stopped as her voice caught, and her jaw tightened, her shoulders squaring as she drew herself up to her full height. "She's her father's daughter. She won't break and she won't give up. This is what she's meant to do and she believes that with everything she has. I might not be able to spare her from what's coming, but I can do my best to kill every bastard who threatens her. Just so that we're clear, that includes you if you lose it again and turn on her."

"I won't. I swear I won't." Wanda thought she could almost feel sorry for any Shi'ar who tried to go through Dani to get to Hope. There was love there, not just gratitude. Love and a fierce sort of devotion. 

"You're right to stay clear for tonight," Dani went on, her tone brusque again. "Best not to remind the people out there that we're only here because of what you did. A lot of them don't expect to see the sun set tomorrow."

"I... don't expect to, either," Wanda said, not quite as steadily as she'd intended. But there was a feeling of... finality, to all of this. Her sense of the ebb and flow of variables, the nebulous, nagging awareness that had driven her to seek out Steve in the first place seemed to have hit a brick wall. 

"You don't want to, you mean," Dani said, not quite contemptuously. 

Wanda smiled tightly. "Does the woman who nearly wiped out mutantkind deserve to?"

"We all deserve the chance to make peace with who we are and what we've done. I'd say it's up to you to decide what that involves. But," and the dark eyes that met hers were abruptly stormy, "don't expect any of us to mourn you as a martyr if that's the way you choose. You want to help clean up your mess, Maximoff? Plan on sticking around. If we make it through tomorrow, the work's just starting."


	28. One Minute Until Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long, painful night in Cooperstown. Final plans are made, and final promises exacted as the X-Men and Avengers wait for the Shi'ar fleet to arrive with the sun.

"Quite the sky, isn't it?" Steve said suddenly from behind him. 

Tony twitched violently enough that the holographic image of the orbital minefields being projected from his gauntlet jumped and shivered. "Ah... I suppose?" he said, deactivating it and glancing upwards to see what Steve was talking about. "...oh."

He'd noticed the seemingly enormous full moon and the brilliant starfield – in a dead town with no light pollution, it was only to be expected – when he'd first come out here. But while he'd been focused on his calculations, an aurora had appeared. Curtains of shimmering green light filled the western sky. It was beautiful and slightly eerie, and if Steve hadn't interrupted him he'd have continued to ignore it entirely. There were times he was pretty hopeless, Tony told himself.

"You should look up from time to time, Tony. You never know what you might see." Sitting down beside him on the still-intact bench in front of what had been Cooperstown's town hall, Steve handed Tony a small thermos. "Coffee," he explained with a brief smile. "If you're not going to sleep, I figured you could probably use it."

"You have no idea." Tony took it and unscrewed the lid, taking a long, appreciative sip before he went on. "I suppose I ought to try and get some sleep. But you know me; I've never been good at that when I know something's coming." There was always a part of his mind that insisted there was more than could be done, that any plan could be improved.

"I'm as bad as you," Steve conceded. "Although I at least have the excuse of having spent the last couple of hours running through some last-minute tactical details with Scott."

"Everything in order for the morning?" He'd stepped out on the strategy meeting once he was clear on what he was supposed to be doing. Madison Jeffries had asked for his input on the various nasty surprises he'd secreted here and there around Cooperstown, and Tony had been only too happy to oblige. It was a way to keep his mind occupied, and he'd been able to suggest several improvements and add a few new deathtraps of his own. The more Shi'ar they didn't have to fight hand-to-hand, the better. 

"I think so. But it all hinges on whether or not they take the fight groundside willingly, or whether we have to force them to do it." There was something in Steve's voice that made Tony give him a sideways look. He was just in time to catch an unguarded look of pain and weariness on his friend's face before Steve composed his expression again, his shoulders squaring at the same instant as if he was reminding himself that he didn't have the luxury of being tired.

Tony toyed for a moment with the idea of saying something. Foley's healing and super-soldier resilience aside, Steve had been pretty badly hurt at the Tower, and he was obviously still feeling it. _God forbid Captain America let on to any weakness where the rest of it can see it._ But harping on the point wasn't likely to get him anywhere.

"Well," Tony said instead, as reasonably as he could, "you and Summers have that covered, right? Forcing them groundside if it comes to that, I mean." Maybe if he could get Steve to see he'd done all he could to prepare, he'd let himself unwind enough to get some rest.

"We do. But if we have to, it's going to cost us," Steve said heavily. "The timing involved... the X-Men may wind up losing a number of their big guns, even if they pull it off. It wouldn't be a suicide mission, just... damned close to one."

Tony took another sip of the hot coffee, trying not to reflect on how many aspects of the plan for tomorrow weren't _quite_ suicidal. The situation was what it was. It wasn't as if they hadn't been in equally tight spots before. _And come through them,_ he reminded himself. Although Steve didn't seem to be remembering that right now. Maybe he just needed a nudge.

"Did you see Reed?" he asked abruptly, eyes narrowing slightly in calculation. "Sue and Johnny came with him. Ben stayed home with the kids. Apparently he drew the short straw."

"I did. Reed said he felt like he needed to see this through," Steve said, sounding pensive. "I guess Johnny and Sue feel similarly."

"They might keep Franklin pretty close to home, but he's still a mutant. And Reed's a lot more familiar than most of us with the implications of messing around with the cosmic balance. Still," Tony said, and deliberately sighed as he looked up at the aurora, "if this goes badly tomorrow, Earth's going to lose a hell of a lot of heroes in one shot." 

"The two of us are getting awfully pessimistic here," Steve said more wryly. Tony watched him take a deep breath, his posture straightening a little more noticeably, and tried not to smile. "It's probably not going to be a good day. We all know that. But this is for the future of humanity, and we all know that, too. At the very least we can surely delay them for long enough for Hope to do what she needs to do."

"Question," Tony said after a moment, contemplatively. It was just the two of them here, so he didn't need to worry about getting glared at by X-Men, and he was honestly curious what Steve's thoughts were about what came after tomorrow. "What happens if Hope pulls it off, but the Shi'ar take it as a reason to... well, to keep coming at us?" 

"This would be why a key part of the plan is to trash their fleet as comprehensively as possible," was Steve's immediate answer. "If they need to keep the ships they have at home to fend off the neighbors, it buys us some breathing room at the very least. As for the longer-term, I take my obstacles one at a time. If Hope succeeds... well, Earth's ability to resist any further attacks is going to get a boost, isn't it?" A snort escaped Steve. "Listen to me. Half the mutants in this town would punch me in the jaw for talking about them like weapons, and they'd be right to do it. But I can't help but think that this _is_ what the Shi'ar are worried about."

"You're having delusions of grandeur again," Tony accused lightly. "Thinking of a roster expansion if we make it through this, are we?"

"We could do worse. A lot worse," Steve pointed out with a hint of real humor. "Besides, now that I'm no longer an employee of the American government, maybe our mutant friends will trust me a little more."

Tony grimaced. "I don't think they ever _mistrusted_ you, precisely... me, yes," he conceded dryly, _and with good reason_ , "but not you."

"No, they just thought I was cheerfully ignorant of my real place in the great scheme of things. Given we're currently hiding out in Alaska to avoid having our own government on us, I tend to think they were right." Though his tone was still dry, there was something almost wistful in Steve's expression as he stared up at the moon. "I want it to be different," he said more abruptly. "For mutants. For all of us. There's a lot that people like you and me could have done and didn't. I just want to help more. If we make it through this, I intend to sit down with some of our friends and do a lot of listening."

"You're an annoyingly good man at times," Tony said, and got a brief smile as a reward for the deadpan comment. "Let me know when that sit-down happens. I might want to sit in."

"You've got it. I think-" Steve stopped, his head turning as if he'd caught something in his peripheral vision. Tony peered in the same direction, spotting movement down the street: Logan, he realized as the figure grew closer. 

"What's up?" Steve asked once Logan was close enough for conversation. 

"Need to talk to you," Logan growled, looking deeply dissatisfied about something. "Both of you. Reed and Strange, too. And then all of you can talk to Frost, because she sure as shit ain't going to listen to me."

Oh, this wasn't going anywhere good, Tony thought grimly. Suddenly, the bar for staying optimistic felt like it had been set a few notches higher.

* * *

When Nathan opened his eyes, he was alone. The nimbus of flame shifted around him, white to gold to red and back again, the light playing over the burned-out room where he sat. It rippled across the walls in patterns that seemed to have some sort of significance to them, and he watched them for a long moment, trying to understand. 

Nothing came to him. Some things were still opaque. The Phoenix murmured in the back of his mind and Nathan raised his hands to his temples, rubbing at them gently. The meditation hadn't helped. It was like he could feel the fire beating against the inside of his skull. As if flesh and bone had become some impossibly fragile thing that would split apart with only a little more stress and let the fire escape. He had to wonder if the fact that he was still breathing was anything more than an illusion. Everything around him was painfully clear, too sharp and impossibly vivid. 

He felt drunk on the world. He felt like he wasn't entirely here. 

_Hope_ had been here when he'd started, he remembered. Now she wasn't. Nathan rose, moving towards the hole in the wall that had once been someone's living-room window, and saw that the moon had changed position in the sky. Hours had passed since he'd sat down to meditate. The flames burned brighter around him as he reached out, his mind sweeping over Cooperstown like a wave.

Hope was easy to find. She was walking, moving through the streets and thinking hard, but calm. Most of the others were sleeping, a wise choice on their part given what was coming tomorrow. Others were awake and worrying, and a few...

A _specific_ few were busy thinking dark things about him. Nathan smiled humorlessly, wondering if they had any idea that he was listening and not particularly caring if they did. It was moot. All of it was moot. The worst-case scenario they were debating was too far down the timeline for him to care right now. All that mattered was what happened in the next twenty-four hours. 

"There's a word for that, you know. Myopia."

Nathan turned at the soft, amused voice, psychic fire billowing around him in agitation as he saw who was standing in the doorway. Domino smiled crookedly at him, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. 

No. Not Domino, not really. She was all... shadows and light, black and white. Even the eyes that met his were pools of darkness, instead of the vivid violet they should have been. 

"Myopia," she repeated. There was a shimmering sort of echo to her voice, as if it were rising up from the depths of a hole. "Particularly dangerous for someone wielding cosmic power, don't you think?"

Nathan took a step towards her, then another, his head tilting as he regarded her intently. "How did I do this?" he murmured quizzically, only a hint of the Phoenix's resonance in his voice. " _Why_ did I do this?"

"Maybe you felt like you needed someone to talk to," the shadow-Dom said, not unkindly. "It's not like anyone's talking _to_ you except Little Red." She pushed away from the doorframe, coming closer and grinning that so-familiar unnerving grin. "Step softly around the Phoenix host," she murmured almost mockingly. "Speak softly and kindly, but don't make eye contact. Oh, and don't touch. He might decide to set you on fire."

"Don't make fun of them. It's not their fault. They're just afraid I'm going to snap." Shadows and light and dust, that was all she was. But she sounded like Dom, and he was lonely enough, afraid enough, to play along. "Except for Scott," he went on more quietly. "He's afraid he's going to lose me again. He's probably right." His father's thoughts seethed in his perceptions, a impossibly tangled knot of love and anger and fear. Something had happened while he'd been meditating. He was too tired to probe deeper to find out what.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you going to let yourself be lost? That seems a little passive for your tastes, babe."

"I don't think I have much choice in the matter." He moved closer, reaching out to touch her shoulder. His hand passed right through her, his flames lighting her shadowy form from within, and he drew his hand back sharply. "Could I bring you back?" he asked, half-wistfully, half-uneasily. " _Really_ back, I mean."

"Are you asking me if you could build yourself a Domino simulacrum to play with?" was the wry reply, and Nathan flinched, leaning away. She shook her head slowly, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Probably with ease. You might even be able to make me think I was real. Want to give it a go?"

Nathan felt suddenly dizzy, almost sick. "No," he said faintly, half-turning away. "No, that... wouldn't be right. You're gone. Weeks ago. If I'd had this power then..." He raised his hands, palms-up, and stared angrily down at the dancing flames. "I could have saved you. Jimmy, and Tabitha, and Hope's boys..." He swallowed, the pain in his chest almost crushing for a moment. Not Rachel. The Phoenix hadn't saved Rachel. But everyone they'd lost on Utopia? He could have willed a single Shi'ar warbird out of existence.

"Now I know you're on a cosmic high, old man. The Nathan I knew had accepted the fact that he couldn't save everyone. Wanted to – never stopped wanting to, but knew he couldn't." She sighed, stepping closer and waving one insubstantial hand through the flames as if to check them for heat. "What happened to him?" she murmured wryly. "Did he burn away?"

 _I'm still here,_ Nathan wanted to say, but didn't. Because he wasn't sure, when it came right down to it. " _Maybe I'm the simulacrum,_ " he said disjointedly, the Phoenix's resonance growing stronger in his voice. " _A copy of a copy of a copy. It does keep bringing me back_ —" 

"Stop." She raised a finger to his lips; he couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there. "I want you to think about those nights on Utopia. They were good nights, weren't they? We had fun. You smiled. Even laughed a few times. Do you remember?"

" _I... of course I do._ " The pain was back, even worse, and he closed his eyes. "I loved you," he said, his voice sounding more like his own, broken in a very human way. "Even after all these years. I still do."

"I know. And now I'm gone, along with Rachel and Sam and all the others. But that doesn't mean you get to give up. If you don't look past the next twenty-four hours, Nate, then you're just preparing yourself to be a martyr. You deserve better than that, jackass. So does Hope. So think about it. Make a future in your mind; make it _real_ for yourself, and hold onto it."

There was a part of him that wanted to, wanted to _so_ much. Probably the same part of him that had made a Domino out of shadows and dust to give him a verbal boot upside the head, he thought faintly. But it hurt to hope, knowing how slim his chances were. How unlikely it was that he would see this through. 

Still, his mind raced ahead of him, spinning a future. Shaping dreams of a house like this one had been, in a small town somewhere. Maybe even here in Alaska, with mountains and wilderness to explore whenever they got tired of being in town. Part of him liked that idea, liked it very much. Hope could go to school, make new friends, live a normal life. He could... rest, and build a life around making her happy. 

It was all so vivid in his mind, like flashes of a life yet to be lived, and Hope was in every single one of them. _Bright Lady, I want this... I want it so much._ He opened his eyes, and the room in front of him, shimmering through tears, was reshaping itself. Ash and debris reformed in the shape of the imagined living room from the imagined house, as if his dream was trying to take form. 

But it was just ash and debris. A dream, not reality. He let out a shaky breath and it all fell apart, leaving only the image of Domino standing there, watching him. 

"I'm so tired," he murmured brokenly. "I'm _so_ tired, Dom..." How could he dream about a future when he could hardly put one foot in front of the other?

"It's almost over, Nate," she promised, her voice soft. "Promise me that you'll do everything you can to make it through this. I rather like the idea of a bored retired you puttering around the house and scaring the piss out of Hope's boyfriends—" 

The laugh that escaped him was almost a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut, running shaking hands through his hair, and told his subconscious to lay off and stop taunting him with what might be. 

When he opened his eyes again, Domino was gone. Nathan didn't know whether to be sad or relieved. His thoughts spun outwards, drawn like Hope like iron to a magnet. Without making the conscious decision to do so, he found himself moving in that direction. Putting one foot in front of the other, as if to remind himself how.

* * *

Hank knew he should be trying to sleep, but he simply could not bring himself to settle. Prowling Cooperstown to check that everyone was well and had everything they needed for the morning was something of a redundant exercise (others had gotten there before him, or so a number of tolerant or irritable X-Men had informed him), but it was a better option than sitting alone somewhere, brooding.

But even as he walked, his mind kept racing in circles – to no productive end, of course. The time for research, on the Phoenix or Wanda's spell or anything else, was long past. Countless potential outcomes had been projected, discussed, and dissected. 

He couldn't seem to stop himself from obsessively reviewing all the choices he'd made, and the ones he hadn't. He didn't flatter himself that those choices would have made _that_ much difference to the fact that they were here, about to make a last desperate stand in a dead town, but even so, the questions haunted him. Would things have been different if he'd urged Logan to take a team back to Utopia when the Shi'ar had first issued their demands? If he'd kept a closer eye on Abby, or tried to avoid falling out of contact with Charles...

Insomnia was a wretched thing at times, Hank thought with a sigh. Especially on nights like this.

Just down the street from the police station, Cooperstown's elementary school had been deemed structurally sound after a quick inspection. Given that it still had most of its roof, most people had opted to stay the night there. Illyana and Megan had teleported in sleeping bags from somewhere to make things more comfortable. He'd asked Megan where they'd found so many, but she'd simply shuddered, muttered something about an unlucky camping store owner, and told him that she never wanted to go on a supply run with Illyana again. At that point, it had seemed prudent not to press her for more details.

When he stepped into the classroom where Rahne had told him he would find Alex and Lorna, he wasn't surprised to see them awake and talking quietly. Anyone interested in sleeping seemed to have gathered in the gymnasium, as if there was some comfort in numbers.

"May I join you?" Hank asked quietly, and got a brief smile from Lorna and a nod from Alex. "I've been touching base with the other insomniacs," he said, sitting down on the sleeping bag they'd unzipped and spread on the floor. They had a Coleman lantern - another acquisition from the supply run, he assumed - and its warm, steady light was welcome. There had seemed to be more shadows than there should be, out on the streets of Cooperstown. "There seems to be rather a number of us."

"Big day tomorrow," Alex said dryly. "I almost prefer it when the disaster drops on our heads without warning. Then you can just... do whatever needs to be done. All of this waiting really gets to me."

"Oh, yes," Lorna said softly, a hint of gentle mockery in her words. "You really hate having time to plan. You and your brother both. Hate it like poison. Right, I completely buy that." Alex's lips twitched in a smile, and she shook her head at him as she poured something steaming from a thermos into its cup. "Here, Hank," she said, handing it over. "Soup. Megan was running around handing it out."

"Thank you kindly, my dear. Upon reflection, I believe I _did_ skip dinner." Hank sipped at the soup, unable to help a faint smile as he watched the two of them. It was... very pleasant to see them so at ease with each other. He'd known that their time in Shi'ar space had brought them closer again, but he thought perhaps that the events of the past several weeks had put the seal on that. That saying about the lack of atheists in foxholes was a widely applicable one.

"I believe we've done all the planning we can," Hank said, trying and not quite managing a hearty tone. "Our due diligence, as it were. If our strategy fails us, it won't be for lack of care."

"It's what we can't plan for that worries me," Alex said, more seriously. "This second agent of the Fraternity's heads the list. It's got to be someone with a chance of getting in close," he said, sounding vaguely frustrated, as if he were repeating himself and knew it. "Someone we'd trust, or someone strong enough to break through our defenses. Or a combination of both."

"We've been sitting here brainstorming," Lorna said, and although she smiled, it was a tight, unamused expression. "Trying to figure out who we know who's missing and might have been corrupted by string-pulling alien bastards from another dimension. It's a longer list than you might think."

"I would imagine so," Hank said with a sigh, his ears drooping. The idea of another friend or teammate somewhere out there under the control of the Raptors was very hard to face. A clean fight was one thing, even if it was against overwhelming odds, but to have someone you cared about turned against you was another. Charles's face had haunted him since that day on the moon. Perhaps that was another reason he wasn't able to sleep. "Perhaps it's someone we don't know at all," he said, almost hopefully. "Just one more hostile to be faced down and defeated."

"Not if our luck holds," was Alex's dour response. Lorna raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I just... have a feeling we haven't seen the last of the nasty surprises the Raptors have in store for us."

Hank opened his mouth, then closed it again, studying Alex thoughtfully. "You, ah, haven't had any odd dreams, have you?" he ventured. "The Phoenix does seem to enjoy dropping in on members of your family-"

But Alex was choking back grim laughter even before Hank had finished speaking. "God, no. I seem to have been spared its affections, for which I am _profoundly_ grateful."

"And it can continue to keep its fiery talons to itself," Lorna murmured. 

"Amen to that. But no, Hank," Alex said, no longer laughing. His expression was deadly serious again. "It's just a hunch, but I don't think I'm wrong. There have been a number of us who've slipped through the cracks over the years. Maybe I'm overthinking it and this second agent _is_ someone random, but it makes less sense that way. If you're trying to choose someone to use as a weapon, you pick someone who's dangerous on as many levels as possible. Someone who can get under our skins," he concluded grimly. "Not just in our faces."

"I wish I could say I thought you were wrong." Hank sighed, sipping at the soup. Chicken noodle, he thought, and still very hot. It was strange, the things that were a comfort at times like this. "I suppose all we can do is be watchful."

"That, and protect the obvious target." Alex's head tilted slightly, his expression gone distant. "Even if we don't know who," he mused, "I'd wage we know when. It'll be when Hope is preoccupied and can't defend herself. When she's right in the middle of what she has to do. Whoever it is, they'll wait for that moment."

Hank nodded slowly. Any Phoenix host was undoubtedly less vulnerable than the Raptors would have preferred. But undoing Wanda's spell was going to take all of Hope's concentration. The opening _would_ be there. "Have you told Scott?" he asked. "About this insight of yours?"

"I will." Alex smiled a bit crookedly. "But I doubt I'll be telling him anything he hasn't thought of already. I'm generally a step or two behind my brother, Hank. There was a time that made me resentful." Lorna snorted softly, and Alex's smile grew a little. "Okay, I still have my moments."

* * *

"This is a depressing spot for a talk."

Scott looked at the sound of Emma's voice, smiling faintly and tightly at the sight of her standing there on the street like a white shadow in the moonlight. It had taken her less time than he'd expected to find him, but he supposed his mental defenses still weren't what they should be.

"I was feeling morbid," he said quietly, leaning back against the stone retaining wall and turning his attention back to the remains of the playground. Burned timbers and melted plastic were all that was left of what had probably been a rather nice little park before the Purifiers had attacked Cooperstown. He could almost imagine what it had originally looked like. Some of the dead children whose bodies he'd seen after the attack had probably even played here. 

"Clearly. I suppose it's the night for it." Emma picked her way carefully through the debris to join him. She mimicked his posture, falling silence as she gazed out at the park. As if they had all the time in the world – or as if she didn't want to be the one who started this conversation. 

It took him a moment longer to realize that he couldn't feel her presence in his mind at all. Telepathically speaking, she was keeping her distance. He didn't know how to interpret that. It could be a good sign, or... not. Scott swallowed past the tightness in his throat as the silence dragged on. 

"So," he said finally, his voice flat and exhausted as he surrendered to the inevitable. He had known this was coming. Logan wasn't the type to let it go. "Did he go to you first, or did he recruit the other Gem holders to make his case for him? I'm just wondering how much of a coward he was."

Emma raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged tightly. He didn't care if he was being fair. He hadn't hated Logan before, not even for leading the exodus from Utopia, but by God, he hated him now. Hated him, and regretted ever going to the school to try and mend fences. Maybe that was irrational of him. _Maybe there's no 'maybe' about it._

"How sweet of you to be concerned about all those men ganging up on little old me," Emma murmured, slipping her arm through his. She let her head rest against his shoulder for a moment, letting her breath out on what was almost a sigh. "Positively gallant."

A bad sign, definitely. Emma wasn't the type for comforting gestures unless she thought they would be badly needed. "I try," Scott said dully. "So what's the verdict? Are you going into battle tomorrow with the Mind Gem tucked in your pocket?" _Did you all agree to be ready to kill my son?_ he wanted to ask, but didn't. Couldn't. He didn't think he had the strength to face the wrong answer.

"I told them I needed to talk to you first," Emma said, just as softly. He felt her touch his thoughts at last, the mental caress edged with sadness and weariness that she would never have allowed herself to show to the world. "And no, darling, that's not me passing the buck. What I'm hoping," she said, looking up at him, "is to help you see that you're looking at this in the wrong way."

His jaw clenching, Scott fought the impulse to pull away from her. "Am I? Why is this even an option?" he asked, trying to wrestle back the resentment suddenly warring with the fear. He'd found a sort of balance in planning the strategic retreat to Cooperstown and their defense against the Shi'ar, but that was all gone now. Everything was out of balance. Hanging in the balance. "You all decided that the Gems couldn't be used against the Shi'ar. Why has that suddenly changed?"

Emma moved to stand in front of him – as if to cut off his retreat, a paranoid part of him growled. She rested one hand on the edge of the wall, but laid the other on his chest, just over his heart. The tenderness of the gesture made his stomach twist. So she thought he needed steadying, did she? 

"We can't risk rupturing reality to fight a worldly threat. I agree with the others on that," she said. Although the words were calm and precise, there was a hint of anxiety in her eyes as she looked up at him, and he wondered why. "Despite the odds against us, the Shi'ar are a very mortal enemy. We _can_ fight them. The Phoenix, on the other hand..."

"So you've already decided that Logan's right and we might wind up having to fight Nathan. Is that what you're telling me?" Scott demanded – then flinched as she reached up and took his face between her hands. 

"I really cannot believe that I'm having to say this to you, of all people, but stop reacting and _think_ for a moment," Emma said, softly but fiercely. "The Mind Gem didn't kill Rachel." Scott flinched even more violently at his daughter's name, and although Emma faltered, biting her lip, she paused only for a moment. "It didn't. It restrained her. If something goes wrong, I could use it to do the same with Nathan. Just to stop him from doing anything he'd regret, until you could reach him and calm him down. You _can_ reach him," she insisted. "I know you can. I've seen you pull him back from the edge when he slips, and I'm not the only one—" 

" _Stop it!_ " His voice cracked on the shout, and Emma stopped as if he'd slapped her, her eyes widening as she gazed up at him. "I can't," he pleaded with her, reaching up to take her hands in his and squeezing them almost too tightly. "I can't look at him as a threat, Emma. I've done that so many times. Too many times, and I was always, _always_ wrong."

Wrong when Stryfe had impersonated Nathan and shot the Professor. Wrong about Providence. Wrong about Nathan's reasons for taking a newborn Hope from the hospital here in Cooperstown. He had misjudged his son, over and over, and it had been _Nathan_ who had paid the price for it, every time. 

"I can't be wrong again," Scott whispered, his throat so tight he could barely force out the words. Clumsily, wearily, he lowered his mental defenses so that she could see how badly he needed her to understand. "Do what you have to do, but I can't be a part of it. I can't plan for the worst. I _have_ to believe in him." He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears, bowing his head. 

After a moment, Emma freed her hands from his, but only so that she could step closer. Her arms went around him in an unexpectedly fierce embrace. "I will do whatever I have to do to help him." She sounded shaken, and he wasn't sure why. "Him and Hope. And you. Can you believe in me, Scott?"

A shaky laugh escaped him, and his arms went around her in turn. "I started a while ago," he whispered into her hair. "You didn't notice?"

* * *

There was nothing left. Hope stared at what had been the Cooperstown hospital's nursery, and couldn't see any trace of what the room had been. Just charred debris. If one of the signs in the lobby hadn't still be partially intact, she wouldn't have known where to find this place. Really, she wasn't sure why she'd come. Some desire to see where it had all started, maybe. To close the circle. 

Behind her, she heard debris crunching beneath footsteps, but didn't need to look around to identify who was coming down the hall towards her. She'd sensed Nathan from blocks away. 

"Did I cry?" she murmured, feeling curiously unsteady as he stopped beside her, as if something had suddenly pushed her to the edge of tears. Maybe it was just the sight of him. He was glowing, just like she was, but unlike the soft glow that surrounded her, the flames around Nathan were flickering erratically, white to gold to red and back again. 

Hope knew it was a bad sign, and really, she didn't _need_ the evidence of her eyes when she had the Phoenix sharpening her own perceptions. She could feel how close to the edge Nathan was. His psi-pattern should have shone with a light of its own, but instead it was only a shadow, backlit by the Phoenix's fire. _I'm losing him._ He was standing right beside her, but slipping a little farther away with every moment that passed. 

For a moment she hated everyone and everything that had brought them to this point – but that was just futile, Hope told herself savagely, raising a hand to wipe at her eyes.

"When you picked me up the first time," she went on doggedly. "Did I cry?"

Nathan stared at the remains of the nursery for a moment before he answered. "You burped," he said, and Hope couldn't help a choked laugh. He glanced sideways at her, raising an eyebrow. His eyes were incandescent silver, not at all human, but the faint twitch of his lips was all Nathan.

"Well, that's... undignified." Hope ran shaking hands through her hair, relieved beyond words that the Phoenix had receded a little and left her to her own emotions, her own reactions. Lately, it had been hard to tell the difference between what she felt and what it felt, and that bothered her. She didn't want to lose herself in the Phoenix. She thought it was probably very important that she didn't. 

"I'm ready, I think," she said, holding her hands out in front of her. Holding them _steady_ , even if the glow around them shimmered and wavered. "For tomorrow. But... I'm scared, Nathan."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than his arms were going around her, pulling her close in the same moment that his mind did the same. Hope squeezed her eyes shut, losing the battle against tears as she felt the Phoenix's fire boiling under his skin. _Please don't take him away from me,_ she thought at that vast fiery presence. _Please. I need him._ But there was no answer, and maybe she shouldn't have expected one. 

"I won't tell you not to be scared," Nathan murmured, and unstable or not, his presence wrapped around her like a blanket of sunshine. Hope leaned her head against his chest and tried to hold onto that warm golden light, to hold onto _him_ with all her strength. "But you can do this. I know you can. I've never doubted it." His voice was tighter, and he raised a hand to stroke her hair. "Not since the first moment I held you."

There was something way too final about this conversation, Hope thought desperately. "Promise me you'll come back." He stiffened and she sensed the flicker of despair in him before he could try to hide it from her. She jerked back just enough to be able to look up and meet his eyes, her jaw set stubbornly despite the way her vision wavered and blurred. "No. You promise me, old man. It can't be just about getting the job done. It _can't_."

But Nathan shook his head slowly. "It has to be," he told her, his voice low and his expression suddenly uncertain. "I... I don't think I have much time left, Hope. I have to focus on what has to be done. What is, is—" 

" _NO!_ " Flames billowed up around her, and the tears stinging her eyes were angry ones now. "Stop spouting that fatalistic bullshit," she snarled, giving him a half-hearted push for emphasis. He barely swayed. "I'll do what I have to do tomorrow. So will you. But we're not just the Phoenix's tools. We're not just here to be used. I love you," she said, choking on the words as the tears streamed down her face, "and you do _not_ get to leave me again. So you promise me you'll come back, or I swear I will start kicking your ass here and now and I won't stop until the sun comes up."

Nathan's eyes had headed for his hairline midway through her tirade, and as she finished speaking, he shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Brat," he accused her, and the incandescence in his eyes faded, if only a little. "I'd like to see you try. Remember who taught you everything you know."

Hope sniffed desperately, giving him another feeble push. "You weren't old and broken-down back then."

"Is that what I am?" Nathan took her face between his hands, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead, and Hope squeezed her eyes shut again, trying as hard as she could to stop crying. "It was worth it, you know." His voice was softer, gentle in a way she'd almost never heard it. "Every sleepless night. Every bullet wound. Every makeshift dirty diaper. I wouldn't trade a moment of it." 

She was going to start sobbing in a minute if she wasn't careful. "I know you don't think you gave me a good life," Hope said, "but I wouldn't have had any of it without you." It would have ended here in this hospital, when it had barely begun. "Thank you," she whispered, and buried her face against his chest. "Thank you for my life."

* * *

_They will not discover the body?_

"Not in time to cause a problem." He drew the shower curtain, hiding the biker's corpse from immediate view. There was no blood trail; he'd been careful not to leave one. "A maid will come to clean the room tomorrow," he went on, stepping out into the bedroom and closing the door behind him, "but by then, it won't matter." He would be long gone. Twelve hours, twenty-four at the most, and it would all be over. Finally.

_Yes. You should depart. Cooperstown is still several hours away, and we question the efficiency of your chosen transportation._

"The only other patrons in this motel tonight are that family. Killing them to get their station wagon would have been far more risky than killing a single man for his motorcycle. If you had been able to teleport me directly to the town limits, we could have avoided this problem," he said curtly, moving to where he had left the bag of weapons on the bed. He unzipped it, checking the contents one last time, and then sealed it again. Best not to carry anything openly, at least until he was well away from this town.

_Our capabilities have been... impaired._

"So you say. Hence the improvisation. You made it necessary, so spare me the criticism." Whatever help the Raptors had given him, he had come too far and paid too much to tolerate pointless commentary on his tactical choices. They had given him the opportunity. _He_ would choose how to exploit it.

There was a short, displeased silence. _How imperious you are. For a tool._

"Says a shadow in the mirror." He strode across the room, glaring stonily at the masked face that stared back at him. "You need me," he told it, ignoring the way the red glow flickered warningly behind its visor. "Remember that there is no bargain here. I asked nothing of you besides your help in returning to this time, so there is nothing you can hold over me now. Our goals coincide. Be satisfied with that."

 _Your window is rapidly closing,_ the Raptor pointed out. _Once the Phoenix arrives, the girl is untouchable._

"Your Datasong lies. No one is untouchable," Lucas Bishop said coldly. They didn't understand, these aliens. They hadn't chased the girl across the centuries as he had. Let them worry about the future of the Shi'ar Imperium; he would act to safeguard his own future. He would _not_ squander this last chance to make things right. "The Phoenix is energy, that's all. And absorbing energy happens to be my specialty."

 

_Next: Planetfall_


	29. Horatius At The Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shi'ar fleet arrives, and the battle begins. But it's hard to fight a war of attrition when you're the ones outnumbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long silence, which was due mostly to a nasty, lingering case of writer's block; it's been far too long between updates. But said block seems to have broken rather, um, conclusively now (she says as she laughs maniacally at the word count on the chapter). Regular updates should resume!
> 
> I will just remind you all that there is a warning for character death on this story, and it should be taken seriously.

The conversation with Emma hadn't been the last of the night, as much good as it would have done both of them to get some sleep. They had been intending to try when Alpha Flight had arrived. Jean-Paul's work, of course. The Canadians had seemed like the likeliest source of reinforcements, but when yesterday had dragged on with no sign of them, Scott had resigned himself to the likelihood that the answer would be no. It had been one of the few times in recent memory that he'd been glad to be wrong.

In contrast, the next set of arrivals had been a complete surprise, although perhaps it shouldn't have been. Brian Braddock had come in response to the initial call for volunteers, and they'd all fully expected Meggan to show up to join him and Betsy at some point. But no one had dreamed that she might arrive in company with Pete Wisdom and every other superpowered member of Britain's MI-13.

_Just do us a favor, Summers,_ Wisdom had said with a twisted smile as he'd lit a cigarette with one of his hotknives. _If we die, have one of your teleporters drop our corpses back through a portal to England. I must be going soft in my old age, but I don't fancy leaving my successor any more of a diplomatic headache than absolutely necessary._

It all made for a significant increase in manpower – and major changes to the deployment plan. They'd still been working on the finishing touches when dawn had arrived and with it, Brand's message. SWORD's long-range sensor platforms had detected the sort of massive spatial distortion that could only be caused by a large number of ships coming through the Sol stargate. 

Close to three hundred, according to the latest update. It was every bit as bad as they'd feared. If that number wasn't whittled down substantially before the fleet reached the minefields, everyone in Cooperstown was dead. That was the _best_ -case scenario. It would only take one Shi'ar capital ship to launch an orbital bombardment, and there was no guarantee Cooperstown would be the only target.

Which meant that it was still up to Nathan to ambush them at Jupiter. Standing in front of Cooperstown's burned-out police station, Scott did his best to ignore both the crowd that had gathered and the impulse to snap at them to stop gawking and get in position. Stress wasn't something you voiced in a situation like this, not if you wanted the people you were about to order into battle to have faith in your judgement. 

Besides, Hope and Nathan didn't seem to notice all the eyes on them. It was as if they stood there alone, the only two people in the world. Nathan's hands rested lightly on Hope's shoulders, his eyes were locked on hers, and the Phoenix's flames shimmered around them, dancing and shining through them both in perfect unison. After a long few moments of silence that Scott could only assume were nothing but, Nathan gave a faint, crooked smile so familiar, so _Nathan-like_ that it made something in Scott's chest tighten. Hope threw herself at her father, hugging him fiercely, and for a moment more, they stood there together.

And then they let each go. Scott swallowed hard as Nathan's incandescent silver gaze shifted to him, and finally let himself step forward to join them. 

_#The worst-case scenario is haunting you. I can see it, Slym.#_ Nathan's voice in his mind was soft, with only a hint of the Phoenix's thunder underlying the words. _#Writhing in your mind, under all those plans and back-up plans.#_

_We've been here before,_ Scott sent back silently, fighting to keep his thoughts level, calm. _I asked you to go the last time, too._ Into the future with X-Force, to destroy Master Mold and the army of Nimrods. It had been a suicide mission then – Nathan's survival had been nothing but a fluke – and it was a suicide mission now. He was sending his son to his death, _again_. His jaw clenched and his eyes stung behind his glasses, but he kept his expression level, all too conscious of the watching eyes.

_#The reason matters, Scott.#_ Nathan laid a hand on his shoulder, and Scott could feel the heat of it even through his uniform. Nathan's mental presence wound itself around him like the Phoenix-flames themselves, and Scott could almost taste the resolve there. _#There's not a lot I wouldn't do if you asked me.#_

_I know._ He didn't know what he had done to deserve that, but he did know. _I just wish I didn't have to ask._

_#We are who we are. Maybe we'll even manage to outrun fate this time.#_ Abruptly, Nathan stepped forward and enfolded Scott in a quick, hard hug. _#Look after her for me,#_ he sent more softly, _#and don't worry. I'm not afraid. I know this is right.#_

Their relationship had always been about time, part of Scott thought dimly. Lost time and stolen time. All the centuries between them and all of Nathan's years alone. The years Rachel had bought for them by bringing him and Jean to the future in cloned bodies to raise Nathan. The moments that had too often been all the two of them could manage in the here and now.

So Scott held onto his son for one more stolen moment, ignoring all the people watching. Except for Hope, standing there looking like she was struggling to hold back tears. Then, just as she had, he let Nathan go.

"Hey, Cable," he heard someone – Barton, he thought – call out as Nathan moved away and the flames around him billowed and brightened, shifting to white-gold. "If you run to miracles, now would be a _really_ good time."

" _The Phoenix_ is _a miracle, Barton,_ " Nathan replied aloud, a hint of wryness in his voice as well as thunder. The flames around him grew brighter and brighter, until he was a vaguely human-shaped form, lost in light too bright to look at directly. " _I suspect we only get the one._ "

" _Vai com deus_ , old man!" That was Roberto DaCosta, calling out from where he stood with his remaining teammates, and Scott looked around in time to see the glitter of angry tears in the younger man's eyes. Scott couldn't help but think of the others who should have been standing there with him. Jimmy, Tabitha. Sam. "Go kick their asses."

The pillar of billowing white light turned in that direction for a moment, as if in acknowledgement, and then back towards Hope for only an instant.

_#From the moment I first held you,#_ Nathan said to his daughter in a whisper like a caress. Then he launched himself skyward, the blazing white firebird-form spreading its wings as soon as he was clear of the rooftops. He soared upwards – a hundred feet, two hundred – and then vanished in a blinding flash as he teleported away.

* * *

Space was where the Phoenix belonged, its true home. It was meant to fly free, to burn as hot as the stars, and it couldn't do that on a fragile planet, surrounded by that planet's even more fragile inhabitants. As soon as Nathan emerged into Jupiter's orbit, he felt the Phoenix's longing for the space between the stars sweep over him like the tide.

Then he saw the Shi'ar fleet. His focus and the Phoenix's sharpened, fixing on their target with lethal intent. He'd reappeared behind Callisto, and the moment it took for the Shi'ar to detect his power signature gave him plenty of time to study their formation, to see what he was up against. 

Many of the ships were warbirds, but there were other types, hulking things whose armaments he couldn't even guess at. The largest were at the center of the fleet, well-protected by their screening elements. The capital ships. The ones that couldn't be allowed to make it to Earth orbit.

Whatever they did to protect themselves wasn't going to matter. He sensed the minds of Shi'ar officers watching their sensor readings kindle with recognition and fear, jumping from bridge to bridge like cold white sparks. Fear, but no panic. That was too bad, Nathan thought distantly. Panic would have been useful. 

_How many people am I about to kill?_ part of him wondered, just as dimly, as he listened to the reactions to the orders being transmitted to the fleet. Half a dozen warbirds immediately redeployed, heading his way. It was like a giant chess game, he thought, watching them approach. These were just the opening moves. 

Strangely, he felt no fear, no worry. Hope and Scott and all the others were hundreds of millions of kilometers away and his chances of seeing any of them again were very slim. If this was the last thing he could do for his daughter, so be it. Every ship he destroyed made what was left of his family a little safer. 

And when it was framed like that, the lives of the Shi'ar aboard meant absolutely nothing. The firebird spread its wings, swelling into immensity, and he dove towards the squadron of warbirds. Their incoming fire was like the stinging of gnats, even less than that, and Nathan brushed it off with barely a thought.

_For you, Hope._ Fiery claws clamped around one warbird, throwing it into another. Nathan dodged the explosion that resulted, spinning on a wingtip and diving towards a third ship – towards and _through_ , the dying screams of the crew echoing in his mind as their ship was torn apart and those who survived the initial impact were sucked into space. The other three ships of the squadron targeted him, pouring everything they had at him as their guns blazed in the void.

He didn't feel it. He _chose_ not to feel it. Instead, he felt the barely-there weight of a tiny newborn in his arms and remembered how he'd run down the hall of the Cooperstown hospital, knowing only that he had to get out. That he had to save her, protect her, so that she wouldn't be used as he had been used. She had deserved better than to be a pawn in someone else's vicious game. 

He had been willing to fight everyone and anyone to make sure that she would escape that fate. The Purifiers, Sinister and the Marauders, even the X-Men. He had even held a gun on his own father, pleading with Scott to see the truth, to spare Hope what Nathan himself hadn't been spared.

That moment. _That_ had been important. It had been the only moment he'd backed down in all the years since he'd lifted Hope from her bassinet. Nathan could have defied Xavier, pushed the situation to the breaking point, but instead he'd done as he was told and handed the baby to Scott. 

And Scott had handed her back. He'd seen the change in his father's expression, felt Scott realize that this was history repeating itself. That they could change the ending this time. His father had laid the baby back in Nathan's arms and trusted him with the fate of their people. 

There had been so many moments those first few months that Nathan had laid awake, watching the baby sleep and remembering that act of faith. Etching it into his memory so that he would never forget, never falter. Never fail to be worthy of it. 

_I didn't let you down, Slym. I didn't let her down. I'm not going to start now._ Hope, Scott, all the people who'd given so much to bring Hope to this place, this day. Everyone who'd died doing it. 

Every Shi'ar ship he killed brought their sacrifice closer to meaning everything.

The remaining three warbirds of that first squadron detonated from within as Nathan reached out and breached their drive cores with simultaneous stabs of telekinesis. He dodged the debris, turning for another target, and the Phoenix cried out in the void, a raptor's scream of pure defiance as he made another teleportational leap.

He reappeared in the midst of the fleet and was on the move before any of the ships closest to him could lock their guns on the firebird. Streaking through their formation, he set space ablaze around him. The ships he hit squarely disintegrated in an instant; those caught in the Phoenix's fiery wake tumbled out of control, their drives screaming in protest before containment was lost and they exploded as well.

Some of the ships out of his immediate range had time to get a targeting lock. He dove towards them but pulled up short, making a pass right through their range and daring them to fire. What was left of the fleet's formation on this side was still too closely packed, and every broadside risked friendly fire. The more of that the better. He could use their own hatred of the Phoenix against them.

Warbirds exploded around him as he dove towards one of the larger ships. A troop carrier, Nathan realized as he sensed thousands of minds aboard. He cracked its hull with a thought, but the ground troops were already sealed in their dropships, each with its own atmosphere. Snarling, he smashed his way through the debris as they tried to flee under their own power. Every single one of them died in a burst of flame. 

But there were other carriers, and even larger ships which might just be capable of orbital bombardment from _beyond_ Stark's minefields. Too many targets. A trace of desperation surfaced amid the fierce determination as he flung himself away from the remains of the first carrier, burning through another squadron of warbirds almost without thinking.

_**#Let go.#**_ The voice in the back of his mind was as calm as it was thunderous, and even more familiar. The ache in his chest at the sound of it was almost overwhelming. To hear her now, here, at the end of everything... 

_**#Let go, Nate. Don't think. Let the fire flow through you. Let them all burn.#** _

_#Redd...#_ He dove at another carrier, targeting its drive this time. The loss of containment took out the dropships as well, but the shockwave flung Nathan back through space. For a moment he tumbled helplessly through the void and the incoming fire _did_ hurt, if only distantly. _#I can't, I have to—#_

_**#Let go,#**_ Jean's voice murmured in his mind, soft and fierce and full of overwhelming love. _**#Trust me, sweetheart. If you slip, I'll catch you. And when it's over, I'll take you home.#**_

For a heart-stopping moment he could see her there in his mind, standing amid the flames. Reaching out a hand to him. Nathan hesitated for only a heartbeat before he took it. 

And then there was nothing but fire.

* * *

Hope really didn't want to be here. But if she wasn't right where certain people could see her, they'd just worry. She could at least spare them that. 

Still, the atmosphere was almost unbearable. The main room of the police station where all the equipment had been set up was crowded with X-Men and Avengers, all of them watching the screens as the feed from SWORD's long-distance recon platforms came through. The tension was so thick it hurt, like a thousand tiny knives grating at her defenses. 

She didn't know why they were all so rapt. It wasn't like you could really _see_ anything useful on the screens, Hope thought dimly from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, her head in her hands. Just... blossoms of fire in the darkness. The platforms were too far away from the battle for anything more detailed. 

"Hope?" That was Dani, sitting beside her. Sitting with her back to the screens, as if she was making a point that she wasn't here to watch the fireworks. Hope couldn't help but be grateful. It made Dani a steady point in the room, an anchor amid all the turbulence. "You still with us?" Dani prompted softly. Hope looked up, only to see Dani's eyes narrow in concern as their gazes met. She wondered if she really looked that awful. 

_"We're picking up coms chatter from the Shi'ar fleet now,"_ Brand's voice said from wherever she and the SWORD survivors were right now. Some sort of temporary headquarters, Doctor McCoy had said. He had been glad that Brand wasn't here in Cooperstown, but ashamed of himself for feeling that way. It was funny the way people's minds worked sometimes. _"They're suffering heavy losses."_

"How heavy, Brand?" Commander Rogers asked, his voice tight. "Any sense of numbers yet?"

_"Hard to tell, Rogers. They're a bit busy up there, so they're not being considerate enough to keep a running count for us to overhear."_

"Very heavy," Hope muttered, not as quietly as she'd intended. Suddenly, far too many sets of eyes were focused on her instead of the screens, and she winced. There was too much fear, too much desperation beneath those carefully controlled expressions. She couldn't shut them out. 

"Whole squadrons," she said, her voice strained but as steady as she could make it. "He's moving as fast as he can. If he stays still, if they get a... a targeting lock on him, they have weapons that could kill him. Or wound the Phoenix. Both." The reaction to that rippled through the room like a cold shiver, and Hope closed her eyes, swallowing hard. 

"Hope." That was Scott, crouching in front of her. It was hard not to flinch away from him; he was _so_ afraid. Not of the battle in space or the battle that would come here, but for Nathan. It was too close to what she was trying so desperately not to feel. She couldn't give in to fear. Not when she had to be strong, to make everyone's sacrifice worth it. 

"You can see him?" Scott asked, his voice not quite steady. She could feel the way he was focused on her, like they were the only two people in the room. 

"I can feel him." Part of it was seeing through Nathan's eyes, but she could see the battle reflected through the eyes of the Shi'ar in the fleet as well. The battle itself was a dance of chaotic energies as seen through a different set of perceptions entirely: not human, not Shi'ar. Vast and ancient beyond imagining, and getting so close now, so very close...

"He let it take him." She heard her own voice as if it were coming from a long way away. It sounded too high, almost like it was ready to break into a scream. "It was the only way. There were too many to fight them one by one. He had to let go and let it burn."

Someone's arm went around her shoulder. "Don't cry," Dani whispered into her ear, pulling her close. Hope let her do it; there was part of her that needed the comfort so badly. Her father was out there using himself up to buy her a chance. When were people going to stop dying for her?

Dani was still talking to her, her voice low and soft and firm. "He's still fighting. He'll do anything he has to do to get back to you. You know that, Hope."

"Hope, how many ships has he destroyed? Can you tell?" Commander Rogers, this time, sounding like it hurt him to have to ask. She felt him caught between his need to know and his need to be kind. He had always tried to be kind to her, even when he hadn't understood what was happening. It struck her that she'd never thanked him for that. 

So she made herself focus on answering his question. She could do that, at least. _#There's so much debris... I can't tell. Dozens? No... more. Definitely more. The fleet was like... a giant wedge in space. Now it's not. They're trying to close the gaps, but he's burning ships from the inside out. Throwing them into the planet's atmosphere.#_

The Phoenix was screaming through Nathan, bellowing out its rage. It _hated_ the Shi'ar, Hope realized with a shock of something close to fear. It wasn't just reflecting the emotions of its hosts, not anymore. The Fraternity of Raptors had protected the Shi'ar, had warped the whole natural order of things to do so. It all needed to burn. The Phoenix was dead-set on that, absolutely focused.

On ships it couldn't reach physically, Shi'ar crews screamed and thrashed, falling to the deck, blood pouring from noses and ears and eyes as Nathan shattered their minds instead of their starships' hulls. He shot back and forth like a ricocheting comet, spinning through the center of the fleet, and the flames surrounding him were white-hot, brighter than the heart of a sun. No creation, not today. Just destruction. 

_#Nathan... Dad...#_ No answer, and the huge ship at the center of the fleet was locking onto the firebird. One huge gun spat forth a mass of darkly glowing energy, something Hope couldn't identify as anything other than deadly dangerous. It struck the wing of the firebird, sending it tumbling helplessly through space, down into Jupiter's atmosphere. 

Hope cried out. Scott and Dani were both holding onto her, Scott telling her to breathe, but before the horrified grief could do more than begin to take shape, she felt Nathan. Cocooned by fire, drifting in a sea of seething gases. Alive, if barely, and the fear ebbed a little as the fire whispered a promise to them both. 

"It's okay," she gasped out, "he's not... it's all right. It'll bring him home, it's almost there..."

"Hope, what-" Scott stopped before the rest of the question was out. As dazed as she was, she felt the realization hit him. "The Phoenix," she heard him say, his voice tight. "It's right behind them."

* * *

"How many?" Abigail Brand asked tightly, leaning over the sensor tech's shoulder. "We need that count!"

The tech had been with SWORD for years, and had seen Abigail Brand in any number of overwhelmingly stressful situations where the fate of the planet had been at stake. Even with that long experience, he had rarely heard the edge in her voice that he heard now. Her time in SHIELD custody must have been a strain, for her to allow herself to be this outwardly rattled.

"The platforms closest to Jupiter are blinded," he told her. "Too much energy discharge from the battle. We won't have a count until they're closer to Martian orbit. Should be a matter of minutes, sir."

Her fingers rapped out an agitated rhythm on the back of his chair. "We're waiting on a count," he heard her say, presumably to Rogers or whoever was at the other end of the communications link. Everyone in the command center knew what was happening, where the X-Men and Avengers had vanished to (and why). It was unquestionably a risky plan, but like everyone else here, he hadn't been about to question Agent Brand or breathe a word of his misgivings to anyone outside SWORD. Most Earthside governments and militaries weren't capable of understanding extraterrestrial threats, let alone responding effectively to them. Brand had supported this, and that was good enough for him.

Data started to stream in from the first of the Martian recon platforms, and the tech caught his breath. "Agent Brand, we've got a preliminary count..." He stared in disbelief at his screens as more platforms began to report. His fingers moved almost automatically, beginning a quick check to make sure the readings were consistent. Because if they were, if that _was_ the number... 

"Well?"

"We're looking at somewhere between forty-five and fifty ships still on their way to Earth," he said, unable to quite keep the stunned tone out of his voice.

Brand didn't do any better than he did. " _Total?_ " she demanded, and he heard the disbelieving hope there. "Are you telling me that's all that's left of _their whole fleet_?"

"Yes, ma'am." The platforms weren't picking up any additional drive signatures behind the cluster of ships still moving towards Earth. "Unless there are disabled ships in Jupiter's orbit with damage that can be quickly repaired, that's what we've got left to deal with." He paused as the data from the last of the recon platforms was received, giving them a firm count. 

"Forty-eight," he said more softly. Forty-eight ships out of nearly three hundred. It seemed impossible. "That's our best estimate. We should have ship types in another five, ten minutes."

Brand whirled away, and the tech kept his attention on his screens, even as he listened to her pass the information along. "-forty-eight, Rogers. _Only_ forty-eight. If those minefields do their job, we might pull this off yet."

* * *

Only forty-eight ships. It was better than any of them had dared hope, a goddamned miracle after all. But it wasn't victory, Tony reminded himself, not yet. Forty-eight ships were still a serious threat by any estimation. If they didn't fully and carefully exploit the opening Cable had given them, the miracle was going to go to waste. 

_And we can't have that._ He opened the back door he'd left himself into the command-and-control system for the minefields, bringing it online. "Initial checks look good," Tony reported as his AI fed him the data. "Everything seems to be where we left it." It wasn't that he really thought anyone at SHIELD would have messed with his system, but one never knew. 

"They're eager to be used," Madison Jeffries mumbled from beside him. The technopath had followed him in, so to speak. It made sense to have two of them directing the position. Made for a faster response time, if the Shi'ar ships tried to evade. "Stealth mode was lonely. They couldn't talk to each other."

_Damn. I thought that_ I _gave machines too much credit for having individual personalities._ "Let them know that things are about to get exciting," Tony said briskly as he made a minute adjustment. Twenty thousand miles above, the manoeuvring thrusters of fifty mines came online for less than a second. No point in breaking stealth mode yet.

_"Stark, you should have the feed from our high orbital platforms coming in now,"_ Brand said. _"Estimating two minutes until they cross the outer perimeter of the minefield."_

The feed from Jupiter had been all but useless. This one, in contrast, was almost movie-quality. Tony could see every ship in what remained of the Shi'ar fleet, and the formation they'd adopted as they drove towards Earth. Lighter ships, mostly warbirds, were out front as screening elements. Behind them were a handful of what had to be troop carriers, and maybe a dozen capital ships, including a hulking thing that common sense said was the imperial flagship. _Too bad Cable didn't manage to take that one out._

Tony kept one eye on the SWORD feed as his suit's AI ran the numbers. This required careful timing. If they triggered the mines too early, the screening elements would soak up all the damage and the more dangerous ships would have time to evade. Too late, and they risked letting one or more of the capital ships slip through undamaged. They only had one shot at this. 

"James should have been here," Jeffries said flatly, and it took Tony a moment to realize he was talking about Nemesis. "He always appreciated fireworks. Here they come."

"On three," Tony said, his mind wandering back to the chaos on the streets of New York during that first Shi'ar attack. _We have to destroy them all,_ he thought, feeling a chill. _No matter what it takes. We really do._ The Shi'ar had already demonstrated that they had no issue with collateral damage, and they had the whole planet to use as leverage. "Three... two..."

"Burn in hell," Jeffries murmured in unison with Tony's 'one', and the feed from the orbital platforms lit up as Shi'ar ships started to explode in space.

* * *

 _#The minefields took out almost half of them.#_ Scott's voice, channeled directly into Erik's mind via Emma's telepathy, was tight but absolutely level. _#SWORD counts twenty-seven surviving ships, at least several of which are heavily damaged. They should hit low earth orbit in less than a minute.#_

_#Bombardment range, you mean,#_ Erik sent back, just as steadily. Stark had done better than he had expected; he'd thought the man's estimates of how many Shi'ar ships his mines would destroy had been overly optimistic. Still, that left rather too many threats still on the board. 

_#Yes. They still have thirteen capital ships. Those need to be the primary target.#_ A pause, and then Scott went on, his mental voice quieter. _#I never thanked you, Erik. For coming to Utopia. For staying.#_

If he'd had more time, he might have allowed himself to be touched by that. _#You never had to, Scott,#_ he said, instead. _#Good luck. We'll do everything we can.#_ Less than a minute, Erik thought, and glanced sideways at his companion. 

Lorna smiled very faintly at him, nodding. She'd clearly heard at least the first part of Scott's report; Erik could feel her reinforcing her shields, preparing for what came next. They were already miles above the Earth's surface, at the very edge of the stratosphere, but they would need to be higher. 

He propelled himself upwards with ease, keeping an eye on Lorna as she followed. Over the years, he had spent much more time in space under his own power than his daughter had. But there was no sign of stress in her power signature, or in her set, determined expression. 

That would come. This was going to be many things; 'easy' would not be one of them. They took up a new position, over a hundred miles above Cooperstown, and waited. Emma sent them more details, confirming that the course of the Shi'ar fleet had not changed. They were still heading right for Hope, following her power signature like hounds tracking a scent. Erik felt them coming a full ten seconds before he saw them, the sun glinting off their hulls a thousand miles away. 

Lorna reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. Erik met her eyes for a moment, something twisting in his chest. He might be content to be here, ready to fight to the last to help preserve the last chance his people had. He might even be grateful to have one of his children fighting beside him. That didn't mean he wouldn't have preferred her to be safe, or at least on Earth. 

It certainly didn't mean that he didn't regret the time lost and the mistakes made. Sometimes he thought he had very little _but_ regret when it came to his children. Erik nodded to her, his chest tightening even further at the slight smile he got in response. 

Together, they turned to face the Shi'ar, and lashed out with their powers in unison. The consensus among their experts on the subject had been that the newer Shi'ar ships would be equipped with shielding technology good enough to protect core systems from anything but a truly massive EMP. But there was still a great deal of metal here that could be strategically manipulated. 

One of the capital ships exploded as they targeted it, tearing part of its internal 'skeleton' directly through its hull. Another of the great ships opened fire and Erik let go of Lorna's hand, moving in front of her to interpose his stronger shields to protect them both. They held, but he grunted as the feedback seared through him, pain screaming along his nerves.

Still, he extended a hand, his teeth bared with effort. The huge ship's drive section broke in half, and the resulting explosion sent part of the burning hulk towards a direct collision with another of the capital ships. It tried to evade, but Erik clenched his hand into a fist and hull plating peeled away, exposing bare power conduits to the debris hurtling at it. Even the glancing impact the Shi'ar helmsmen couldn't quite avoid was enough to set off a chain reaction, and the explosions took out not only the capital ship itself but a number of the warbirds around it.

Lorna, he saw, had come up with an excellent strategy. She had seized a piece of debris and was trying to force it _into_ the drive vents of one of the capital ships. He added his strength to hers, and the resulting explosion, though less spectacular than the last – it only crippled the ship, rather than destroying it – left them with several more sizeable pieces of debris. Debris they could use to target the drive sections and bridges of the other capital ships, Erik thought, his eyes narrowing as he called back to mind the details of Havok's briefing on the vulnerable points of the different Shi'ar ship types. It would suit him very well to see some of these ships burn up in atmosphere, or drift up here with no one left to fire their weapons. Lorna caught on quickly, following his example. 

It worked. At first. When the Shi'ar adapted, so did they. But as the battle continued, there was only so much they could do to conserve their energy. There were too many targets, too much chaos on the EM spectrum. The constant incoming fire tore at their shields, and the strain was building far faster than he'd hoped. To make things worse, the distances involved were small enough now that the remnants of the fleet were upon them in minutes, and the energy fire was coming from nearly point-blank range now. Erik tried an EMP, hoping it would be more effective at close range. Multiple warbirds lost power and started to drift helplessly, but even the closest of the capital ships was unaffected. 

_#Fourteen, Emma,#_ Erik thought distantly, feeling sweat pouring down his face even in the icy cold of the atmospheric pocket inside his shields. _#Fourteen left. Six capital ships.#_

Six including the flagship, and its vast guns were powering up, producing something... _wrong_ , an energy signature that felt like it was tearing a hole in the electromagnetic spectrum. Erik felt even colder, remembering that the Shi'ar had once possessed a weapon that had shattered the Phoenix force into fragments and driven it insane. Was this that weapon? 

He would _not_ permit them to use it on Hope. Erik looked around and saw Lorna sinking Earthward, her exhaustion getting the better of her as she struggled to reach one of the remaining capital ships. He could feel her control slipping. She wasn't going to last. 

But that was all right. He'd never intended that she should die up here with him. He lashed out with carefully measured force, sending her spinning downwards into the atmosphere. 

_#Tell Thor that Polaris is incoming,#_ Erik sent to Emma. _#She'll need help.#_ The Asgardian was standing ready to implement his part of the plan. He would catch her. Lorna would survive, at least for a little while longer. 

It was the last gift he could give her. Hopefully it would be enough. Erik propelled himself forward, directly at the flagship and its enormous set of guns, around which some tormented, esoteric form of radiation was pooling. 

He heard Emma say something in response, but the psychic equivalent of static obscured her words. Perhaps it was interference from the flagship's weapons. It hardly mattered. 

_Time for the last of the old men to leave the stage, Charles,_ Erik thought, in the instant before he struck the guns and the world went white.

* * *

"Magneto is gone." 

Emma's report, delivered in a tight, almost over-controlled voice, fell into the dead silence of the command center like a stone into deep water, provoking barely a ripple. There weren't that many people left here waiting - most had taken up their positions elsewhere in Cooperstown - but Scott saw Hank look down at the floor, looking oddly bewildered, as if Emma's words simple refused to compute. In the corner, Wanda turned away, her face hidden by her hair, and Clint laid a hand on her shoulder.

Scott turned his attention back to the screens, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning behind his glasses. The flash had cleared, and the Shi'ar flagship was still there. Intact, despite Erik's sacrifice. Its guns were gone at least, smashed into debris. Erik had pulled its teeth, even if he hadn't ripped out its heart. It hadn't been for nothing. 

"Polaris is..." A pause, agonizingly long, and Scott could only be glad that Alex was elsewhere, waiting for his signal, instead of here with them. "Safe," Emma finally said, her shoulders slumping slightly. "She says she'll stay with Thor, back him up." 

"That should help with the dropships," Steve murmured from where he, too, was watching the screens intently. Double-checking the count, Scott thought. "Still six capital ships," he said, his eyes flickering sideways to meet Scott's and his expression grim. "Five, I suppose. That flagship doesn't look like it's going to be bombing us from orbit anytime soon. Still, I think we've got to go for it."

"Agreed," Scott said, his own voice just as tight as Emma's had been. He had hoped to avoid this part - if their timing was off in the slightest, they could lose everyone he was about to deploy - but even the five remaining capital ships could level Cooperstown in minutes. Emma moved to stand behind him, her hands framing his head as she drew him back into a tactical link. 

_#Magik. Pixie. Go,#_ he sent, and his expression went stony and blank as he stared at the screens. Waiting.

* * *

The members of the engineering staff of the dreadnought _Neramani's Pride_ were among the best to be found in their individual areas of specialty. Only those of the highest competence were ever given such a prestigious posting. Mere minutes after a massive piece of hull plating had been driven into one of their ship's drive vents, they had already isolated the affected systems and rerouted power, preventing a much larger explosion that would have crippled their ship at best, and possibly destroyed it entirely. 

The chief engineer had just finished reporting to the captain that partial propulsion had been restored when he saw a pinpoint of blue-white light flare into existence, just across the drive chamber. It swelled in an instant into a glowing disc of energy, wider than five men standing side by side. 

Out of it erupted a monster. There was no other way to describe the creature, nothing else it could be called. Steel-skinned and helmeted, its enormous feet slammed against the desk hard enough to dent the battle steel. Great bony protuberances erupted from its back and strange sigils started to glow on its armor-like skin as it roared like something out of a fledgling's worst nightmares and ran right _at_ the drive. Steel-clad hands warped into hideous claws as it reached out to rip through shielding and armor plating as if it was the most delicate synth-silk.

Severed power couplings exploded, and the engineer was dead before Piotr Rasputin leapt through another disc, twin to the first, an instant ahead of the shockwave.

* * *

On the dreadnought _Blazing Star_ , the Red Hulk appeared in a near-identical drive chamber and tore his way casually through the crew that tried to stop him before he attacked the drive directly. His absorption powers kicked in as he smashed through the shielding around the drive core, and he gritted his teeth as his internal heat levels started to rise. _Anytime now, girl,_ he thought, tearing open a power coupling and biting back a bellow of pain. 

The drive exploded an instant before the stepping disc opened beneath his feet. Something smashed into his chest an instant before he was dropped back on the street in front of Cooperstown's police station. The pain hit a heartbeat later, and Ross sagged to his knees, his hands grabbing feebly at the long spike of metal that the explosion had driven through his ribs. Part of the drive housing, he thought dimly, remembering. Well, that had been bad luck... 

The last thing he heard was shouting and the running footsteps of people coming to his aid.

* * *

" _MEDIC!_ "

Kavita Rao looked up, her heart lurching in her chest as Carol Danvers erupted into the makeshift infirmary. The Avenger's uniform was blackened and smouldering, although she appeared uninjured. The pink-haired girl in her arms, lacking Danvers' physical advantages, was another story entirely.

"Set her down here!" Kavita ordered, jerking her head at one of the empty gurneys and grabbing at supplies.

Carol immediately did as she was told. "She grabbed me a second too late," the blonde woman said hoarsely, setting Pixie down carefully on the gurney. Kavita blanched as she reached the other side of the gurney and got a better look at the girl's burns. "We were caught in the explosion. The ship's gone, but—" 

"Foley! I need you!" Kavita shouted, loudly enough for Josh to hear her from where he was in the other room tending to the Red Hulk. The Hulk's regenerative powers would keep him alive for a little while longer, even without immediate assistance. But if he didn't help Pixie right now, the girl would die on this gurney.

* * *

Alex fell to his hands and knees on the shattered pavement of the street, wheezing as he sucked in cool, fresh air. Air that was thankfully not on fire, unlike where he'd just left. _Too close, too damned close!_ At least he could be reasonably sure that ship wasn't there anymore. A full-strength plasma blast right into the drive core would have ignited the ship's whole power system from the inside out. 

Another stepping disc flashed beside him, and Illyana staggered through. Her uniform was smouldering and she nearly fell as she lowered a burned, limp body Alex barely recognized as Remy to the ground. 

"Shit," Alex managed to croak, moving to check his pulse. 

But Illyana was shaking her head. "He's gone," she managed, her voice so hoarse he could hardly make out the words. "Something's happened to Pixie, she didn't go back for him—" 

"God _damn_ it!" But she was right. As soon as he turned Remy over and saw the extent of his injuries, he knew there'd be no pulse. He checked for one anyway, just to make sure. Illyana abruptly tottered again, wheezing for breath between racking coughs. Alex reached out to catch her, calling out to Emma in his head. However the others had done, however many of those ships were still intact, there would be no more teleporting into orbit.

They'd done what they could. _God, I hope it's enough._ As Illyana sagged into his arms, Alex heard the rumble of thunder and looked up to see pitch-black clouds gathering with unnatural speed over Cooperstown. Lightning started to flash, over and over, all but splitting the sky, and then there were explosions, blossoms of fire amid the blackness. Dropships, he realized suddenly. Those troop carriers were releasing their loads, intending to finish the fight on the ground.

Which meant they _couldn't_ do it from orbit anymore. A dizzying surge of hope surfaced amid the grief and worry. They'd done it. It had cost them, but they'd done it. Rain started to fall, great sheets of it, and Alex staggered to his feet, swinging the barely conscious Illyana up into his arms. He glanced down at Remy, something twisting in his chest at the thought of leaving him there in the street. But there was no time. 

_#Scott! We've got incoming!#_


	30. On Ne Passe Pas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle is joined in Cooperstown, as the Shi'ar throw everything they have at the X-Men, the Avengers, and their allies. Amidst the chaos, Bishop makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a much longer delay than I anticipated (I blame summer teaching, writer's block, performance anxiety, and various other sundry impediments). I hope that for those of you still reading, this was worth the wait, and I apologize for the cliffhanger (again).

_I may never forgive you for leaving me behind,_ Emma had told Scott, only half in jest, when he had ordered her to remain at the command center and run the telepathic switchboard from there. _In fact, I believe I may demand penance. Significant penance._

Scott had given her a small, pained smile for the attempt at banter. _Just remember to watch your back as well as ours, Em,_ he'd said – and kissed her before turning away. The public display of affection had so startled her that she'd actually let him have the last word. If they both survived the day, she would never live it down. Phoebe had already found the time for some snide commentary, even with the Shi'ar bearing down on them. 

How Scott had known that she could never have done this while fighting, Emma wasn't sure. Even with the support of the Cuckoos, she could barely stand. Too many unfamiliar minds, that was part of the problem. The X-Men were her linchpins, blazing points of light she knew as well as she knew her own mind. But too many of their allies were all but strangers to her and her links to them faded in and out, so fragile that the chaos on the astral plane battered them into near-silence. 

Chaos. Chaos was a mild word for it. _Death_ was all around them. Shi'ar, so many Shi'ar, their fierce warrior minds screaming out in denial as they died by the hundreds, until the whole astral plane was white noise and rage. She looked through eyes that weren't her own and saw a sky full of exploding dropships, fire and debris raining down on Cooperstown and its defenders. 

_Watch out,_ she thought, the words whispering desperately down the sparkling, flickering web of the switchboard, _watch the sky..._ The torrential rain was hampering visibility, making the situation even more dangerous. 

She saw Noriko Ashida send a massive electrical bolt at a dropship swooping low over Cooperstown. It struck true, the ship exploding in mid-air. But the sheer scale of the attack had exhausted Noriko's power reserves; she was disoriented, too slow to dodge the falling debris, and Emma reached out desperately to warn someone closer – no, someone _faster_. 

_I see her!_ was the instant response, and a shudder of relief went through Emma as Jean-Paul Beaubier blurred through the air, grabbing the girl and bearing her to safety. 

But in the instant she was focused on Northstar and Surge, she was too late for someone else. Emma cried out, rocking forward as she felt the falling dropship collide with Theresa Cassidy, _felt_ Sean's daughter die. Then she was looking through Roberto DaCosta's eyes, hearing him scream his old teammate's name in denial as he watched her limp body hit the ground. 

#Roberto, no!# Emma cried, restraining him before he could launch himself at the nearest dropship in a frenzy of rage that would do nothing but get him killed. #She's gone, I'm sorry but she's gone – _you have to stay focused!_ # 

But he was so angry that she couldn't calm him, not even forcibly. Not with her attention split so many different ways, and even as she fought with Roberto, the whole switchboard was fraying, the Cuckoos beginning to succumb to the stress. 

#There are too many. They're getting through,# Mindee sent, the thought trembling with anxiety that Celeste and Phoebe echoed. Their minds were full of images of dropships eluding the aerial defenses, making planetfall. #Ms. Frost, they're landing!#

So they were. Not many, but enough. Straining, Emma sent Roberto in another direction, to help two of Wisdom's people; if he couldn't be calmed, he could at least be distracted. #Remember the _matryoshka_ doll, girls,# she sent with difficulty as she fought to stabilize the switchboard. #Our defenses have more than one layer. Landing doesn't mean they've won.# Far from it.

A flash of vertigo hit her as Scott's mind abruptly drew her in. He was on the roof of a building, somewhere on Cooperstown's main street. A dropship had landed in the street below him, its hull still smouldering from the heat of reentry. _Delta,_ he sent to her, the codeword for the next phase of the plan that would send the ground-based energy projectors and reserve fliers against the dropships that had managed to land. _Give the word, Emma. The more we kill in their ships, the better._

The optic blast that followed turned the air crimson, disintegrating the dropship and killing everyone aboard in an instant. Emma projected Scott's order across the switchboard, then pulled back to get a broader perspective on just how many dropships were still incoming. It was a delicate balancing act, figuring out how many people could be safely diverted from trying to destroy the ships in the air... 

#Anthony, there are two dropships on the ground three blocks to your two'o'clock,# she sent to Stark. Not far away, Alex was making his way towards another he'd spotted landing. Given his injuries he should have stayed in the infirmary, but Emma was intimately familiar with Summers stubbornness and knew better than to try and argue with him. Besides, they needed his firepower on the streets. He reached the dropship just as its hatch was opening – most unfortunate for the occupants, Emma noted as Alex proved that, injured or not, he still had excellent aim.

#Mr. Drake is entombing them in ice,# Celeste said, sounding calmer and oddly satisfied. #Several of them. The rain is helping, he says. All that water in the air.# 

#Still, tell him not to exhaust himself. We may need him later,# Emma sent, then flinched at a flare of vicious rage from another familiar mind. _Burn in hell,_ she heard Amara Aquila hiss, the young woman's thoughts burning with the same lethal heat as the magma that erupted directly beneath a dropship as it touched down. The pilot tried to ascend, but more magma fountained upwards, like a geyser driven by hate. Emma drew Amara's attention to the comparative fragility of the dropship's atmospheric thrusters and then left her to it. 

The Cuckoos were settling again, the fierce strength of their gestalt mind pouring into the switchboard and stabilizing it. The web stopped flickering, became as hard as diamond. They were the eye of the hurricane, seeing into the storm, sharing the pain and fear and grim determination of those outside, but untouched by it themselves. Emma let herself sink deeper into her link with the gestalt, and as the girls darted this way and that, calling out coordinates, she passed them on to whoever was closest. It wasn't easy, but they were doing it. Every set of eyes on the battlefield was theirs to use.

Even those belonging to the Shi'ar. Hundreds were dying before they even made it out of their ships, but too many did make it out, their boots hitting Alaskan soil, and from there, it was nothing but chaos. Emma saw Danvers smash into a phalanx of Shi'ar troops, sending them flying like bowling pins, and then turn on a dime to make another pass. On another street, Rogers charged a firing line of Shi'ar commandos with a fearlessness that seemed almost relieved. _Finally,_ he was thinking, repeating it like a mantra as he launched himself into the midst of the enemy soldiers, _finally, I can fight them, finally—_ One street over, Namor was _counting_ as he fought, Emma realized, nearly choking on a laugh that would have been too close to hysterical.

It should have mattered that the Shi'ar still outnumbered the defenders, even after the incredible havoc that had been wreaked upon them in the air. They were a warrior race, well-used to planetary invasion, and the near-religious fervor driving them should have helped tipped the balance. 

But it didn't. Cooperstown's defenders had been through too much. Too much damage had been done; too many friends and loved ones had been lost. Humanity's champions were drawing a line in the sand, and the Shi'ar, despite their numbers, despite their determination, were finding themselves unable to cross it.

#Hope is... not listening to us,# Phoebe said suddenly. #Her mind is... elsewhere?#

Shocked out of her focus on the individual battles happening on Cooperstown's streets, Emma reached for Hope's unmistakable psi-signature. The girl had been destroying dropships in the air with an ease that even Thor hadn't been able to match, but something had changed while Emma's attention had been elsewhere. Hope seemed to have lost interest in the battle entirely, and was moving through the streets – towards the ruins of the hospital? Her mind was on fire, her awareness totally focused on something beyond Emma's ability to perceive.

#Danielle!#

#I'm with her, Emma,# came the immediate answer. Even with her own mutant powers restored, Danielle had opted to petition Hela for the same borrowed power that had once allowed her to defeat the God of War. Consequently, no one had argued when the newly re-made Valkyrie had appointed herself Hope's personal bodyguard. #But she's not listening to me, either. I think it's calling to her. It must be very close now.#

#Ms. Frost,# Celeste said sharply, #there are new hostiles on the battlefield. Not from the dropships. They're just... appearing.#

As if from an impossible distance, she heard Madison Jeffries swearing where he sat at his consoles. "Teleportational signatures," the technopath reported. "Originating from one of the ships still in orbit. Not many, maybe two dozen—"

#It's the Imperial Guard,# Mindee said. #Gladiator is with them. He's very angry.#

Emma hissed, thought for a moment, and then reached for two very specific minds. #I regret to inform you that the Majestor of the Shi'ar appears to be incoming,# she sent. #Help Dani keep him away from Hope, or all of this was for nothing!#

* * *

It would rank as one of the greatest military disasters in Shi'ar history, Gladiator knew. Not for the death toll - Rook'shir, the Imperium's first and only native Shi'ar host, had killed billions, after all - but for the sheer humiliation of the fact that a Shi'ar armada had been all but annihilated in an attack on a single primitive planet. Whatever happened now, he thought bleakly, even if he managed to kill the girl before she could destroy the future of the Imperium, he would always be remembered for this. His son, his son's sons, would live with the shame for countless generations to come. 

All he could hope to do now was stop it from getting any worse. To save the Imperium, if not his honor, and that meant ending Hope Summers _now_. As he overflew the battlefield, he felt Oracle brush his surface thoughts, reestablishing contact. She had teleported down from the _Hammer_ with the others, but on his orders was avoiding direct engagement with the enemy until she could locate _their_ telepaths. Right now, her perspective was invaluable. 

#There, Majestor,# she sent, drawing his attention towards one of the larger ruined buildings. #The girl is there. I can feel her.# Her presence faded, as if she had been distracted, but it didn't matter. She had given him what he needed.

The X-Men and the Avengers were still putting up a ferocious defense in the streets and in the air. His people were dying with every minute that passed. He wanted to help them, yearned to add his strength to theirs, but he had to stay focused on the target. As he approached the building Oracle had indicated, his enhanced eyesight detected the Phoenix's power signature. The girl was within reach. 

Strategies raced through his mind; he would have to be fast, as fast as he could be, to strike at the host quickly enough to do sufficient damage. The physical body had to be destroyed utterly, or the cursed Phoenix would simply resurrect her. His heat vision could—

Something hit him from behind with stunning force. It wasn't enough to injure him seriously - very little in this universe was - but it was more than enough to knock him out of the air. He had been traveling at such a high rate of speed that he was unable to arrest his momentum, and his impact with the ground plowed a long furrow before he was able to stop himself. 

As he rose, his attacker interposed herself before him and his target. She had been riding some kind of winged beast, but stepped away from it as Gladiator regained his feet. It ascended into the air at a gesture from her, clearing the area. 

"You don't get to touch her," Danielle Moonstar said flatly. 

Gladiator stared hard at her, bringing back to mind the details of her file in the Imperial databanks. A depowered mutant, or so Imperial Intelligence had thought. Clearly, they had been mistaken. But this sort of strength bore no resemblance to her original powers. It was an anomaly, yet another Sharra-cursed anomaly in a series of them. Mutants with powers they shouldn't have, multiple Phoenix hosts—

A familiar voice at the back of his mind warned him sharply of the dangers of doubt. His strength, as always, would diminish along with his confidence, and he could _not_ afford that, not today. Gladiator snarled bitterly and girded himself, flying directly at her. 

She was already charging to meet him, and as they clashed, went on the offensive without the slightest hesitation. Her strength was _not_ equal to his, he soon realized, but there was such ferocity and speed behind her counterattack that his blows, however powerful, only struck home a fraction of the time that they should have. Though they did more damage when they did, hers landed far more often. Impossibly, he started to _feel_ them, too. Pain, when he should feel nothing but purpose. 

"What... _are_ you?" he grated almost involuntarily as he fought to remember his goal. His imperative. He had to finish this. For his people and their future. There was no other option and there could be no other result. He would not be the Majestor who presided over the ruin of the Aerie.

The thought made him angry enough that he finally managed to brush past her defenses and hit her hard enough to send her staggering backwards. Moonstar reeled, wiping blood from her mouth, and grinned at him bleakly, her dark eyes cold within the shadows of her winged helmet. 

"I was made to stop gods," she said. "I suppose you qualify."

"You are only delaying the inevitable!" he snarled, his eyes burning red as he prepared to blast her with his heat vision. To turn her to ashes if he had to. 

"Oh, you're right about that," she called back, her voice light and mocking. She did not move to dodge. Why was she not—

"IMPERIUS REX!" 

This attack came from behind as well, and Gladiator found himself plowing another furrow in the Terran soil as his attacker drove him forward - pointedly, deliberately away from his target. Blows far faster than Moonstar's rained down on him with each passing second. 

Gladiator managed to twist and throw his attacker away, but bought himself only an instant. His attacker recovered his balance in the air with ease and launched himself back into a frontal attack. The moment was enough to let Gladiator see who he was facing. The King of Atlantis _had_ been expected, at least. 

He rose to meet Namor mid-air, trading blow for blow. Again, he found himself stalemated with a being who should _not_ be his equal. Namor threw himself into battle like a berserker, seeming to shrug off Gladiator's own blows despite the damage they clearly did. Imperial Intelligence had said that Namor was volatile, arrogant. Prone to verbalizing his contempt for his enemies. 

But here and now, Namor said nothing. He seemed determined to save every breath for the fight, and even as Gladiator's fists started to leave more and more visible injuries, the Atlantean king did not falter, but simply returned him blow for blow, eyes blazing with contempt. Contempt for a fellow monarch who had chosen to wait to join the battle until the last possible moment?

The thought made him angry again. "You... will _not_ stop me from doing what must be done!" Gladiator roared, finally managing to kick the Atlantean mutant away. As Namor recovered and moved to charge him once more, Gladiator blasted him with his heat vision. The mutant's scream was deeply satisfying as he tumbled from the air, and Gladiator felt more sure of himself as he turned away, seeking the target. Moonstar was on the ground, apparently unable to fly - and running to her comrade's aid, he saw. Very well. 

#Majestor!# Oracle cried out, finally reestablishing contact. #Above you!#

 _This_ enemy, he recognized. "Get out of my way, Danvers," he raged at her as she put herself directly in his path. 

"Like hell," the Kree hybrid said levelly. Lightning started to flash all around them, coalescing around another familiar figure approaching from above. 

"You don't get it, do you?" Danvers said as Thor moved to join her. In his peripheral vision, Gladiator saw a burned but still determined-looking Namor rising towards them. On the ground, Moonstar stood with a hulking armored figure barely recognizable as the X-Man Colossus. Waiting. "You've lost," Danvers went on, her voice unyielding. "I'm giving you one chance to stand down. To tell your troops to stand down, before any more of your people have to die." 

"Never," Gladiator said tightly. 

Danvers gazed at him for a moment, then smiled - a tight, strangely pleased expression. "Good," she murmured, raising a hand. 

Gladiator was immediately blinded by a powerful photonic blast, and before he could recover, they were upon him.

* * *

The bank had been older, obviously built in a time when people had expected their banks to look as stable as they actually were. Even in its burned-out state it was the best bet for cover on this block, Alex thought, flinching as more gunfire peppered the truck he and Rogue were currently using for cover. Once those Shi'ar got closer, their aim was going to get a lot better, and frankly, the rain was providing most of the cover. Not the truck itself.

He half-rose for long enough to send a plasma blast back at them – and exhaled on what might have been a shaky laugh as he saw Natasha Romanova, barely visible through the darkness of the storm, gesturing to them from one of the windows. 

"Friendlies waving us in. Make for the door on three?" he asked Rogue. She'd borrowed his powers, but they'd both been through the wringer today and neither of them had much gas left in the tank. Rogue sent a blast at the Shi'ar, then glanced at the bank, her eyes narrowing, before she gave him a brusque nod. Alex took a deep breath, counted down, and then pushed himself back to his feet, trusting Rogue to follow. 

They were close enough that speed was their best bet. But the Shi'ar were advancing up the street, firing as they came, and Rogue cried out as she caught a round in the thigh, stumbling. Alex grabbed her, pulling her with him as he made for the doorway. With his free hand, he directed another blast at the Shi'ar, and in that moment, spotted one of the soldiers raising a much larger weapon to his shoulder and firing.

The plasma grenade fell just short of them, but skipped almost playfully across the wet ground, closing the gap. Too close. "GET DOWN!" he shouted at the empty windows of the bank, just before the grenade exploded. The shockwave tossed him and Rogue through the air like rag dolls – fortunately, directly _through_ the doorway. But Alex hit the debris-strewn floor just inside the door hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs, and blackness tried to push in at the edges of his vision before he doggedly beat it back. 

There were hands there immediately pulling the two of them further inside, away from the door. As Alex's vision cleared, he realized that it was Hank bending over him, checking him for injuries. "I'm... okay," he wheezed, pushing himself up to a sitting position and ignoring the sharp pain in his side. A rib, maybe. Didn't matter. Everything important still seemed to be attached, and the ringing in his ears was fading already. 

To his left, Rogue was flat on her back on the ground, clearly struggling to focus on Logan as he bent over her. Logan didn't even ask; he just laid his hand against her face to loan her his healing factor. Alex had to admit he was envious. There were other wounded here, he saw as he gave the inside the back a quick once-over. Jessica Drew, Hisako Ichiki, and a couple of members of Alpha Flight he didn't recognize. One of Wisdom's people, the doctor with the magic sword – Faiza, she'd introduced herself as Faiza, Alex reminded himself – was moving back and forth between them, with Nate Grey of all people helping her.

"We have got to get out of here," he muttered to no one in particular. 

"No shit," Logan growled. Rogue was sitting up, grimacing at her leg but clearly focusing again, as if Logan's healing factor had been a shot of adrenaline. "Now that we've got some more firepower, I say we try." 

"We haven't got enough people to move the wounded," Hank said wearily. There were scorched patches here and there on his body armor and his fur alike, but his eyes were intent as he scanned the street. "None of them can move under their own power. We need more assistance before we can fight our way out of here."

Romanova had moved back to the window, firing back at the Shi'ar, who were across the street now. Alex crawled up to join her and get a look for himself; there seemed to be rather more out there than there had been a minute ago. Romanova gave her head a tight, quick shake, her expression grim. 

"There are too many of them. They've broken through somewhere," she said curtly. "We may _have_ to move now, wounded or not. What happened to our telepathic switchboard?"

"I don't know," Alex said, trying to think. "Blanked out suddenly. Maybe the Shi'ar got through and hit the command center." If Emma and the Stepfords had wound up having to defend themselves, they wouldn't be able to maintain communications. That had been the point of putting them in the most protected spot in Cooperstown to start with. "We can create a diversion out front," he suggested, his hands started to glow as he looked for the bastard with the grenade launcher. _Him first._ "Might buy us time to get the wounded up to the roof, if nothing else."

Romanova nodded again. "Might be easier to evacuate them by air," she said crisply. "I'm not seeing many fliers with the Shi'ar. Means we'd only have to secure the stairwell—" 

All at once, the gunfire from the other side of the street stopped. Romanova looked upwards, her eyes narrowing. Alex didn't need to follow her gaze to realize that there was no way the lull was a good thing. 

An instant later, there were three members of the Imperial Guard landing in the street. Alex gritted his teeth, glad they hadn't moved yet. "Smasher," he told Romanova in a low, tight voice. His own teammates didn't need the information, but he wasn't sure if she'd been with the Avengers any of the times they'd faced the Imperial Guard. "Typical brick. The one with the whip is Hussar. The whip generates bio-electrical shocks. I don't recognize their friend. Can't tell you what to expect."

"Well," Romanova murmured, not quite dryly, "he _is_ on fire."

"Oh my stars and garters," Hank breathed from the other window. "He's not the only one." The three Guardsmen were looking in the same direction – and looking particularly alarmed all of a sudden.

Alex followed the direction of Hank's gaze, and felt a sudden swell of incredulous relief at the sight of a familiar fiery raptor descending through the stormclouds. Even in the pouring rain, it was as bright as the sun, and it was coming right at them. As cavalry went, Alex thought dimly, this would do just fine. Beautifully, as a matter of fact. 

"Okay," he heard Nate Grey say, sounding dazed. "Spectacular timing, old man."

Nathan landed on his feet, but the impact was hard enough to send spiderwebbing cracks racing through the pavement as it bucked upwards, and the wings of the firebird smashed the buildings on either side into rubble. Only the bank was untouched. The Phoenix screamed, shrieking defiance and pure unwavering hatred at the Guardsmen, and Alex figured that Nathan had to be shielding them telepathically as well as telekinetically. Because judging by the way the Shi'ar were falling down and convulsing, that hadn't been just the cosmic equivalent of a 'fuck you'. 

In the next moment, the convulsing bodies caught fire. Not just the Guardmen, but the soldiers down the street as well. They went up like Roman candles, as if every cell in their bodies had just spontaneously combusted. Nathan hadn't even given them the chance to raise their weapons, and part of Alex knew that was deliberate. That he had _meant_ for them to die in agony, knowing that they were helpless. The atmosphere was vibrating with rage and contempt – Nathan's emotions, so overwhelming that it was hard to focus past them. 

Nathan's attention shifted to the bank, incandescent silver eyes locking on Alex as if the two of them were the only ones there. #Get your wounded out,# he called, and with the telepathic contact, pain and exhaustion crashed down on Alex even more ferociously than the rage and contempt of a moment ago. He staggered under the weight of it, realizing that Phoenix or not, Nathan was on his last legs too. #I'll clear a path for you,# Nathan went on, #but you have to—wait!# he ordered sharply, looking skyward. 

Alex heard it in the same instant: the roar of starship engines, far too low. He ran for the doorway, nearly trampling Logan. Hank and Romanova were right behind them, Rogue hobbling a few steps behind. 

There were two warbirds swooping low over Cooperstown. They'd known that some of the smaller elements of the fleet had survived, but they hadn't expected a suicide play at this point, not once the survivors had seen what had happened to their dropships. _We should have,_ Alex chastised himself bitterly, _goddamn it, we should have!_ If they had to die, Shi'ar captains were just fine with dying gloriously. 

Nathan blasted back into the air without another word, debris flying everywhere in the firebird's wake. As quickly as he reacted, it wasn't fast enough. The warbird strafed the streets on the west side of town, streets where X-Men and Avengers and their allies were still fighting. Alex heard Hank groan in horror an instant before another of those shattering raptor-screams tore through the psychic atmosphere. 

It was small consolation that the warbirds got only the one shot. Cable was on the first of them an instant later, the firebird's talons tearing through hull plating and ripping the ship apart. The second banked, coming around to try and hit him with a broadside – and exploded in mid-air, the fireball lighting up the sky over Cooperstown for an instant before it faded. The debris was deflected, flying in every direction except straight downward, and Alex reminded himself to breathe even as part of him wondered how many of his friends and allies had just died. 

"He is _losing_ it." Nate Grey had come out of the bank and up behind him, and was staring up at the firebird as it spiraled back downwards, making a high-speed pass up one street and then down another. Gouts of flame sprang up in Nathan's wake, debris floating upwards as if the law of gravity had just ceased to apply. Alex glanced back at Nate, his stomach twisting at the sick expression the younger man wore. "He's killing them," Nate went on dully. "All of them. He's not going to be able to stop."

* * *

The girl walked through the streets, red-gold fire flowing around her like liquid light. She seemed totally unaware of her surroundings, utterly lost in whatever was drawing her onwards. Hard to believe that none of the Shi'ar had managed to reach her, Bishop thought, but then, the defenders were still holding fast even if some of their lines had collapsed. Their strategy had worked remarkably well.

They simply hadn't taken him into account. 

It _had_ been a heroic effort. Bishop could admit that freely. The X-Men had been his friends, his family once upon a time, and he cared for some of them still. The Avengers, the other allies, they were all admirable in their own way as well. It was just a pity that they were fighting and dying in the wrong cause. If he could put an end to this, an end to her, before any more of them had to die, there would be a certain degree of comfort in that. 

At first he had moved parallel to Hope's path through the streets, listening to the Raptor murmur instructions from the Datasong in the back of his mind as it tracked the ebb and flow of the timestream. Then, when it had become clear that the girl was absorbed by the Phoenix's call and that the strongest of her protectors were preoccupied with the Majestor, he had started to stalk her more directly, moving cautiously from cover to cover, relying on the gloom of the storm and her distraction as much as the Raptor's rapid-fire commands to _freeze_ or _hide_ or _move now, human!_

But he was running out of time. Gladiator had nearly lost his battle, according to the Datastream, and Bishop knew he was no match for even one of the Majestor's opponents, let alone all of them. Cable had nearly reached Earth, and the Phoenix itself was minutes behind him. If it arrived, if it took the girl, his chance of success would all but vanish. 

_Time to finish this._ Taking a deep breath, Bishop picked up the pace, closing the distance between them.

 _This_ will _kill you,_ the Raptor's voice in his mind reminded him coldly. _Even with our alterations to your physiology._ Enhancements, Bishop preferred to call them. _You_ will _be able to absorb enough energy to weaken her, but then you must strike quickly. Before it incinerates you._ There was an undertone to the words that suggested that the Raptor would feel very little regret when that happened, even if Bishop managed to fulfil his mission and achieve the Fraternity's goals as well as his own.

 _You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment. I won't miss the opportunity,_ he retorted just as coldly, and broke into a run. All he needed was physical contact, that and a hand free for the weapon the Raptors had provided.

Unlike the giant Blade of the Phoenix that Xavier had used to kill Rachel, Bishop's blade was small and unremarkable-looking. But it was the same technology, just far more refined. More than enough to do the job, as long as he weakened her sufficiently first. 

Hope didn't start to turn until he was only steps away. Even then, her reaction was so sluggish that her eyes barely had time to widen before he—

Was hit by an all too familiar optic blast, powerful enough to knock him down even as his absorption ability kicked in. "Hope, go!" he heard Cyclops shout. 

The girl stared at Bishop for an instant longer, that momentary flash of alarm draining away and leaving behind nothing. Only fire. She turned away, as if dismissing him from her notice, and continued on her way. Moving somewhat more quickly, however, Bishop noticed. Cyclops stepped out from a shattered storefront. He must have come from the next street over, Bishop thought, and cut through the ruined building to hide his approach. Perhaps Frost had directed him?

It hardly mattered. "Not a wise move, Scott," he growled as he hauled himself to his feet and returned the blast, with interest. Scott dodged unerringly – judging the angles perfectly, as usual – and the next blast hit the pavement beneath Bishop's feet. It was enough to make him stumble, although he absorbed the bulk of the energy this time, too. Scott used the momentary opening to close the distance between them, his intentions obvious.

 _Hand-to-hand, Scott? Really?_ They had danced this dance before. Bishop had taken the other man's measure and found him wanting, and that had been seventeen years of vicious battle ago. He was fresh; Scott had already been fighting for his life. This should have been easy. 

It wasn't. Bishop tried to use the energy Scott had so helpfully given him, but Scott knocked his hand away and the blast went wide. Leaving another opening, and Scott went for his throat as if they had never been comrades, only mortal enemies. Bishop barely blocked a kick that would have shattered his kneecap, and growled in frustration. He didn't have time for this. Going on the attack with a flurry of blows, he landed a solid punch to Scott's midsection, followed by another to his jaw. 

Still, Summers would not go down. He fought back with a fury that would have reminded Bishop of Logan if it hadn't been so controlled. He fought as if this was the only fight in his life that would mean anything.

Bishop knew he wouldn't end this with words. Reason had never worked with Scott, not on the subject of Hope. He was going to have to beat the man to a bloody pulp to get him to stop. 

Which would take too long. Hope was almost at the end of the street, and perhaps his chance had been lost already, but he wasn't prepared to admit defeat. He _would_ finish this. Whatever he had to do. Snarling a bitter curse under his breath, Bishop punched Scott again, sending him reeling back a step, and drew his gun. 

Sudden movement down the street, and Bishop _almost_ managed to dodge Captain America's shield as it came directly at his head. It still struck him a glancing blow, enough to drive him to his knees seeing stars. His gun fell from nerveless fingers, and he couldn't reach it, couldn't _see_ it.

Scott pressed the advantage immediately. A kick to his stomach left Bishop retching. Another punch broke his nose. Still seeing stars (and choking on blood now, too), Bishop barely blocked a follow-up strike that would have crushed his windpipe. The Raptor was screaming at the back of his mind, telling him to draw the knife, to use it. 

Of course, Bishop thought groggily. Someone else's blood wouldn't do it any harm. 

He heard Rogers, much closer now, shout a warning. Too late. He drew the blade and drove it into Scott's gut, jerking it upwards.

* * *

Steve saw the black-clad man pull the knife free as Scott staggered backwards, his knees buckling. Fury boiled up inside him and as he reached his shield, Steve grabbed it without breaking his stride and charged. Bishop – because that was who this was, however impossible it seemed; Steve _had_ read Hope's file, after all – didn't even have the chance to try to and defend himself. The shield-bash to the face knocked him flat, and Steve felt bone crunch beneath the impact. 

"You... you d-don't understand," the man mumbled, spitting blood and bits of teeth as he tried feebly to turn on his side, to get up. "Have to... she'll destroy _everything_. It's ... inevitable."

Steve hit him again. Hard enough to knock him the rest of the way out and keep him there for the foreseeable future. He was angry enough that the blow could have killed the man and he knew it. "I don't believe in inevitability," he growled as Bishop fell back against the ground. 

Breathing only a little quickly, Steve went immediately to Scott's side, dropping to his knees beside the X-Man. "I'm sorry," he said tightly, putting pressure on the wound right away. It was bad, but he'd live if they got him help quickly. "I should have been faster."

Scott was as white as a sheet, shaking with the onset of shock, but he managed a tight smile. "He's... down," he managed, no strength at all in his voice. "Good... enough for me. Is he—"

"I don't think so. But he won't be getting up anytime soon." Steve used his free hand to adjust his com, hoping against hope that a call might get through the interference of the storm and the battle, not that he'd had much luck with that so far. 

But Scott's hand abruptly closed around his wrist, squeezing hard. Steve immediately looked down at him, expecting to see alarm or fear, or something that one might expect from someone who was critically injured. Reassuring words died on his lips at what he _did_ see, at the overwhelming, exhausted relief and the pure incredulous wonder on Scott's face as he gazed upwards. 

Steve followed the direction of his gaze, and his breath caught in his chest on a gasp as the heavens opened.

"Oh, my God," he murmured, his voice cracking.

The firebirds the Phoenix hosts had manifested had been beautiful and terrifying. They had haunted his dreams since the first day he'd seen them over New York, and he had made a promise to himself that if he survived this, he would try to draw or maybe paint them. To capture something of their essence, even if he knew he could never convey their sheer impact. 

But they had been child's toys in comparison to this. The children of the Phoenix, playing with miniature version of their 'mother'. The Phoenix itself was...

Indescribable. He could barely make out the shape of the firebird, it was so vast. Its wingspan stretched from horizon to horizon. It wans't red or gold or any of the shades in between, but a pure blinding white. All colors. Every shade of light there was. The sound it made as it descended on Cooperstown wasn't a raptor's scream, but a single, sustained chord that could have come from God's own organ. Like a choir of angels, his mother might have said.

 _I almost let Tony build a gun to try and shoot that,_ part of Steve thought inanely.

Scott let out a sound that might have been a sigh. "We win," he whispered, his grip on Steve's wrist slackening in the instant before everything went white.

* * *

Hope walked through the halls of the hospital where she had been born, and knew that she was walking through a frozen moment. Time itself had stopped. The sounds of battle from outside had faded, and the rain coming through the holes in the roof hung in mid-air, glowing like tiny diamonds in the light of the Phoenix's flames. She passed a hand through a few droplets, almost aimlessly, but kept walking towards her destination. 

Somehow, she had known this place would be important again. That was what had drawn her here last night. To make sure she could find her way back. She stepped into the ruined nursery, and exhaled on a sigh as she saw who was waiting. 

"Hello, Hope," Jean Grey said softly, and extended a hand.

On the floor between them was debris that might have been a bassinet, once upon a time. Hope didn't reach back, not yet. 

"'Hope'," she said, her voice cracking a little despite her best effort to keep it steady. "Funny pun, in the end. Such a _functional_ name. But you give real names to real girls, right? Not to pieces of the Phoenix."

"Is that what you think, deep down? That you're not real? Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." Jean's eyes warmed with an entirely human compassion rather than the Phoenix's fire. Hope suddenly wanted nothing more than to throw herself into the other woman's arms. She barely remembered her foster mother's embrace, and Nathan wasn't much for hugging if he wasn't about to leave on a suicide mission. 

She stayed where she was. She had a job to do, Hope reminded herself, wiping at her eyes. A purpose to fulfill, the one that had been paid for in blood. "What is, is," she said, her voice still unsteady. "Just tell me that Dad's alive?" _That he'll be waiting for me when this is done?_

"Nathan's alive." Jean frowned a little, looking down and away. "A bit worse for wear... we had to leave him, to come here." Fire flashed in Jean's eyes, a hint of thunder echoing in her voice. "But he's waiting for you, Hope."

"And do we get to live?" The words slipped out, and Hope bit her lip hard, hating herself for the weakness. "No," she said, "no, you don't have to answer that. I'm not trying to bargain, I'm not. I'm here. Let's do this." She extended her hands, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she wondered what it would feel like. Whether it would burn. 

"There's a poem," Jean mumured, gazing at her. "One line, especially. 'I am a part of all that I have met.' You're right, Hope. What is, is. And every moment you've lived, every bit of pain and joy you've ever experienced, is with you right now. Everyone who gave their life for you, everyone you love... they're _all_ with you, here and now. In this moment you are the most real thing in the universe. You made yourself real, Hope."

Tears blurred her vision as she _felt_ the truth in the quiet, forcing, loving words, but she blinked them back and squared her shoulders, taking Jean's hands. 

"I'm my father's daughter," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "Let's break this fucking cage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who may be wondering why Dani showed up with Valkyrie-powers, I can only point you to technosagery's wonderful [Sixty Guilders of Beads against the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/896811), written for my birthday and telling the story of what Dani did next after Hope restored her powers. It's a wonderful story, and I hope those of you who read it enjoy it as much as I did.


	31. Rise Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The X-Men and the Avengers have all but destroyed the Shi'ar fleet and fought Gladiator's troops to a standstill on the streets of Cooperstown. Hope Summers is about to meet her destiny. But the power of the Phoenix is a dangerous thing at the best of times, and there is one last test to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long, long silence on this. A combination of writer's block in the fall and then a whole host of medical issues conspired against me. There is an epilogue to follow, hopefully before too long.

Nathan managed to raise his head a little before his strength failed him and he slumped back against the rubble. The fall had been a long one, he thought dimly. Why hadn’t he shielded himself? Something popped in his chest as he tried again to move, and he could taste blood at the back of his throat. He’d been spoiled, having the Phoenix there to repair damage and shunt the pain away for so long. 

But it was gone now, like water running from a broken cup in the same moment the great firebird had broken through the clouds. That was all right. It was with Hope, where it belonged. The thought should have been a relief. But with nothing left in his mind but ash and emptiness, he felt…

Worried. They were here at the appointed time and place but it wasn’t over. Somehow he knew that, even before his head cleared enough to let him register the sounds of battle still raging all around him. His telepathy refocused sluggishly, just in time to let him sense himself being targeted. 

Nathan managed to roll to his left, bare inches ahead of an energy blast. It saved him from being incinerated on the spot, but the force of the explosion was enough to send him skidding across the pavement and slam him into a wall. Blackness pushed in at the edges of his vision as he crumpled, easy prey for whoever had just shot at him. 

Except that the next energy blast he heard was the familiar sound of his uncle’s plasma blasts, followed an instant later by Alex’s voice shouting his name. Nathan tried to get up, but his arms and legs didn’t seem to be doing what they were told and Alex was right there almost immediately, telling him not to move and pushing him back flat against the ground when he tried. Panic lent him a surge of strength, and Nathan struggled desperately against the restraining hands. He had to get up, had to get to Hope—

“— _easy_ , Nathan, damn it! We’re trying to help.”

Other hands checked him for injuries as Alex held him still. “—ribs, definitely, and I don’t like the sound of his breathing. Can we get him back to the triage site?” A female voice. Romanova. 

“It’s inside that dome, and even if it wasn’t, our chances of getting him through the streets are zip.” The low, angry growl from his left was Logan. Nathan found that reassuring. If Logan was here, he wasn’t off stabbing Hope.

He didn’t realize he’d mumbled that aloud until Logan gave a bark of laughter. “No one’s stabbing your kid, Nate, believe me. Give me a hand, Alex.”

Romanova said something that sounded disapproving, but the hands that had been restraining him eased him upwards into a sitting position. The shift in position hurt, twin waves of fiery pain and dizziness sweeping over him. But it _was_ easier to breathe, upright like this. And it meant that he could see, which was the important part. 

“Do you know what this is? Nathan?” Alex’s voice was tight, worried. 

A perfect dome of glowing white light had enclosed the centre of Cooperstown. Nathan stared at it and knew it for exactly what it was. The Phoenix might have left him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear it. There was a harmony building in the light. Rising and falling, modulating upwards in pitch with each repetition. 

“Sheltering wings,” he mumbled. “Needs a while longer. She has… to concentrate.” He didn’t know which ‘she’ he meant, Hope or the Phoenix. Both, maybe. They were rewriting reality and that couldn’t be done casually. The cage was a puzzle; that had always been the challenge.

"Well, that answers that." Alex sounded even more strained, and Nathan sensed his mind racing, considering and discarding plans at speed. So much like Scott, he thought dimly. "We've got to find cover," he went on, "see if we can get people organized—“

Why was it _Alex_ trying to organize people? “Scott?" Nathan asked too quickly, and set off a wave of coughing painful enough that he saw white for a moment. 

Logan reached out to help Alex steady him. “Inside that,” he growled, “best as we can tell. Steve, too.”

“As well as the telepaths who are supposed to be running our communications,” Romanova said crisply. She had backed off a few steps to keep watch, a gun in either hand and her eyes sharp as they flickered back and forth. “Coms are all but useless with the energy discharge. I don’t know how we’re going to manage this.”

Rainbow ripples were running through the dome, flashing and sparking. Powering up, Nathan thought, and suddenly he was seeing through Hope’s eyes. She was in the nursery. Of course. That was why she’d gone there last night, to make sure she remembered the way. Full circle.

Jean, or the aspect of the Phoenix that liked to wear Jean’s face (was there really a difference, he wondered) was standing across from her, their hands and their whole beings linked. Every particle of ash, every molecule of debris in the ruined hospital was glowing from inside as reality itself started to warp under the weight of what was about to happen.

* * *

#Emma.#

The voice echoed like thunder in the frozen silence. Everything was caught between moments. Mindee, sprawled on the ground clutching at her head as her sisters bent to help her. The Shi’ar telepath Oracle crumpled in a pool of her own blood and Madison Jeffries standing over her, his weapon still levelled. None of them moved. Were they even breathing? Emma’s mind was so full of fire and music that for a moment, she couldn’t tell. 

#Emma. You’re needed.#

She started the scene unblinkingly, trying to concentrate. To remember. They had been deep in gestalt coordinating the battle outside when she’d sensed the… wrongness of Bishop’s presence just in time to warn Scott. They had been fighting, she remembered that much. Remembered trying and inexplicably failing to break into Bishop’s mind, too. 

But then Oracle had been there, forcing her way into the room and the gestalt both, and then… then, what? The Phoenix had screamed its way into the atmosphere, the astral plane had exploded, and everything had just stopped. As if reality itself was holding its breath. 

Emma rose slowly, her skin crawling at the feel of the air, its unnatural thickness. Her gaze flickered to the Cuckoos, and she told herself that they _were_ alive. The mind-blast Mindee had taken hadn’t been enough to do permanent damage. They would still be here when the world started to move again. 

But she was needed elsewhere. The mental tug came again, so insistent it was almost painful, and she followed it out of the police station. A shudder went through her as she stepped out into the open air and saw that the rain itself had been frozen mid-fall. The raindrops gleamed white, reflecting the dome of fire that had settled over the heart of Cooperstown. Diamonds, she thought dimly. Diamonds everywhere she looked. 

Emma forced herself to focus. For better or for worse, it was all in Hope’s hands now. All that mattered to Emma in this moment was that the Phoenix had made an exception for her by allowing her to walk free of this. The reason for that couldn’t be anything but terrible. 

When she came around the corner of what had been Cooperstown’s library she knew why the Phoenix had spoken to her in Jean’s voice. 

Bishop’s sprawled form rated barely a glance; Steve drew her attention for a moment longer, but only because the hands he was pressing to Scott’s abdomen were covered in blood. A snarl of denial escaped Emma as she broke into a run, not stopping until she was kneeling in the street at Scott’s side. 

Time wasn’t frozen, not entirely. The blood that pulsed weakly through Steve’s fingers told her that much.

* * *

She had left Cooperstown so far behind she barely remembered what it looked like. 

Hope wasn’t sure how she’d gotten here. Wherever ‘here’ was. There seemed to be stars all around her, stars and nebulae and clouds of colourful cosmic dust. But it was like floating in the midst of a painting, surrounded by beauty but knowing that it was just a representation of something greater. Something more real. 

Only when she looked closer, saw this place through the Phoenix’s eyes, did she understand. Every star, every swirl of colour was another whole reality. She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time: between moments, between worlds, between _everything_.

The multiverse stretched out before her like an infinite tapestry of light, and she could see it all. 

As she sank deeper into that cosmic awareness, the distance between her and the person who had been Hope Summers only grew. Further still, and the cage that was Wanda Maximoff’s spell took shape around her in a form almost too vast for even the Phoenix to comprehend. 

An all-encompassing web of sickly scarlet light, there was no pattern to it, no symmetry at all. Its razor-edged strands pierced countless realities, weapon and puzzle and poison all at once. 

It seemed so fundamentally unjust that something done in a moment of spite could warp the natural order so completely. Even a force of chaos and change could appreciate that. 

Fiery talons reached out and closed around the structure of the spell—and time abruptly lost all cohesion. She was suddenly _there_ , in the moment that had started all of this, and her whole being shuddered as she heard Wanda’s voice raised in a scream. 

_We’re not the next step. We’re not gods. We’re freaks! Look at us, Daddy! We’re freaks! Mutants! You chose this over us and you ruined us!_

Reeling at the force of it, she struggled to regain her equilibrium. Knowing all at once that _this_ was the key. This single, apparently timeless moment. It was an infinite loop, etched into the fabric of the multiverse because Wanda wouldn’t, couldn’t let it go. 

Her grief, her guilt, her self-righteous anger (because part of Wanda knew and still relished how perfect a punishment she had inflicted on her father), _that_ was what sustained the spell. 

Pain.

_**No more mutants.**_

The words echoed like thunder in the space between realities, and the Phoenix screamed in anguish as she lived M-Day through the eyes of every mutant Wanda’s spell had touched. Every mutant everywhere. All at once. 

She died, burning or drowning or falling to her death as her powers cut out. She survived, only to die more slowly as her mutated body broke down—or more quickly, at the hands of people who still believed that the only good mutant was a dead mutant. Even if that mutant was powerless.  
 She lived on in fear or despair—or a nagging sense of loss that persisted even as she told herself that the loss was a blessing. 

She _fought_ to live, to make it all mean something—but sacrificed principles and peace to survive a world that wanted to finish the job Wanda Maximoff had started… 

Life. Death. Pain. So much pain. 

 Too much. The Phoenix screamed again, and the dome over Cooperstown went from shining white to burning red.

* * *

Consciousness kept trying to slip away. Scott knew he was fading in and out; part of him would have liked to stay out, but Steve was all but carrying him already. 

He didn’t know where they were going. It was hard to focus on anything but the pain—that, and Emma supporting him on the other side, telling him over and over again to “stay with me, you idiot, do you hear me?” It was her hand pressed against the knife wound, he thought. She was in his mind, too, her grip on his thoughts tightening every time they tried to splinter and fade into the red-edged darkness.

He was so tired. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just let him rest. The Phoenix was here, Hope was safe, and it was all finished, or almost. If he didn’t see the promised land that was all right. Only fair, actually. It was past time that he paid for everything he’d done, all the games he’d played and the sacrifices he’d made with other people’s lives… 

But the light around them was changing. Darkening. Steve muttered something that could have been a curse, and Emma’s presence in his mind became distracted. Worried. They stopped, the sharpness of the movement sending a wave of fresh agony through his midsection, and Scott sagged in Steve’s grip, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. 

A whisper in the depths of his mind drew him back, a plea for help and a warning all at once. _Oh, Hope,_ he thought dimly. Not now. Not at the very borders of the promised land. 

They couldn’t do anything to stop this. _He_ couldn’t do anything. So Scott stopped trying to hold on and instead, reached out for the only one who could. 

_Nathan…_

* * *

Something had gone terribly wrong. All over Cooperstown, X-Men and Avengers saw the dome flicker from white to red and then erupt. Balls of Phoenix-fire screamed like comets through the air, targeting the few surviving Shi’ar dropships. Others annihilated whole groups of Shi’ar soldiers, incinerating them on the spot. Only chance and the hyperawareness of battle conditions saved some of the defenders from becoming collateral damage. The rain of fire wasn’t quite indiscriminate, but it was close. 

Under the dome, things were just as bad. There, the eruptions weren’t fireballs but spears of burning red light that targeted every Shi’ar within reach. Dani, pummelling a still-struggling Gladiator, was pulled away just in time by Thor. An instant later, the Majestor of the Shi’ar went up like a Roman candle, burning up from the inside. 

Inside and outside the dome, members of the Imperial Guard died in the same fire. Most didn’t even have the chance to scream. 

A few streets away from the edge of the dome, Stephen Strange was casting every defensive spell he knew in an attempt to stop the same thing from happening to Wanda Maximoff. But the barrage of Phoenix-fire only grew more intense as he tried to keep it from her. Something terrible had happened. The Phoenix had lost its focus, been reduced to lashing out in blind fury at the source of the disturbance that had drawn it to Earth in the first place. The Shi’ar had only been a moment’s preoccupation; now it had found a proper target. 

“Stephen…” Wanda had been trying to add her power to his in an attempt to divert the Phoenix’s fury, but as great waves of fire smashed against his shields, turning the ruined buildings around them into glass as the very fabric of reality warped around them, she had buckled. On her knees in the rubble, she looked up at him, her expression drawn with exhaustion and despair. “Let her have me,” she whispered. “It’s only right. I caused this, all of it…”

A raptor-scream echoed across the astral plane, as if the Phoenix had heard her. Strange grunted, going to one knee as giant talons took shape out of the fire and tore at his shields.

“You’ve… forgotten, Wanda,” he managed. The Phoenix had forgotten, too. To kill Wanda, to tear her out of the heart of her spell, would only serve to bring reality itself crashing down. “It is… no solution. If you don’t fight to live… we _all_ die. Help me!” he gritted, calling on his deepest resources of power. He would drain himself to the dregs if need be. All he could do was try to buy Hope time to regain control.

Or for someone else to find the girl lost inside the fire. Another presence was moving across the astral plane. Faint at first, it gained strength steadily, until it was like the rising sun, pure and blinding gold as it broke the horizon.

* * *

The wasteland stretched out all around her, nothing but bare rock and barren dirt for as far as the eye could see. It was cold, so very cold. The nights often were at this end of history, as if the Earth supported so little life that warmth hardly seemed worth the effort anymore. 

Her hands were shaking, almost numb. Hope started to extend them towards the fire but hesitated, a distant quaver of fear freezing her to the spot. 

The fire in front of her bore no resemblance at all to their usually-feeble campfires (it was harder and harder to find anything to burn, the further she and Nathan moved into the future). Almost too bright to look at, it moved like a living thing. She couldn’t see the source of the flames and when she looked too closely, she could feel herself sinking, falling into a sea of endless, burning light…

Strong hands came down on her shoulders, anchoring her, and she gasped like someone surfacing from deep water as she leaned back against Nathan’s solid, steady presence. 

“I’m afraid,” she managed. “Nathan… I’m so afraid.”

“I know,” her father murmured. His arms went around her, somehow holding her tightly and as if she was fragile at the same time. “I’m here. I’ll always find you.”

Hope’s eyes stung with tears, the flames blurring in her sight. He didn’t make promises often; he was too realistic for that. Maybe he could say it now because he wasn’t going to have to follow through—no, that wasn’t fair. 

“I… miss this,” she said in a small, choked voice. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Missing a post-apocalyptic hellscape.”

But when they had been here, the real here (because this wasn’t real, as much as she wanted it to be) it had just been the two of them. She might have gone to bed with a stomach full of rat on the good nights, never knowing what might show up to kill them before dawn, but Nathan had always been there. 

 When nightmares had shattered her sleep, he’d been there to hold her. When she’d lost her temper or given in to the sheer awful bleakness of their lives, he’d been there to remind her that they had to go on. That you never stopped fighting until the fight was done.   
 And it wasn’t. “It’s so angry,” Hope said faintly, forcing herself to look at the flames. They tried to pull her in, as if they were angry that she’d fled to this corner of her mind. Only Nathan’s arms around her kept her here. “I don’t know how to control it. It’s killing all the Shi’ar, Dad.”

Somewhere in the infinite distance, great bolts of fire exploded upwards from the dome around Cooperstown, tearing through the atmosphere and smashing into the last few Shi’ar ships still in orbit. The _Hammer_ , the damaged Shi’ar flagship, exploded in a shower of fire and debris. Hope could feel the Phoenix’s vicious satisfaction. It was too darkly human a feeling for a cosmic entity. This was all going wrong, just like it had all those years ago… 

“I don’t really care how many Shi’ar it kills. Strategically speaking, it’s probably not a bad thing to wipe out what’s left of that fleet,” Nathan said quietly. His arms tightened around her. “But that’s not what it’s supposed to be doing right now. Not what _you’re_ supposed to be doing. You’re not on target, soldier.”

He’d said things like that to her before. Usually when he was trying to drive her onward, to make her keep fighting. But this time the words were light, almost wry, and a sound that was almost a laugh escaped Hope. 

“That’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it?” Nathan went on. “The verbal boot upside the head. It worked well when you were fourteen. Well… for a while. Maybe about a month.”

Hysterical laughter was not okay right now. Neither were tears. “Is it too late to jump back into the time stream and get the hell out of here?” she asked facetiously, her lips trembling as she remembered when he’d given her that choice. He’d put her first. He’d always put her first. 

“We could give a try,” Nathan said, almost deadpan. “I’ll distract the giant firebird. You run.”

Another choked laugh slipped out and Hope pulled away, turning so that she could look up at him where he crouched behind her. Fresh tears welled up as she lurched forward, hugging him fiercely. “Still not sure how to do this,” she murmured brokenly as his arms went back around her. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

“Listen,” Nathan murmured, freeing a hand to stroke her hair. His voice was softer, more tender. “I think we’ve got time for one more lesson. Sometimes it’s not about control, Hope. I tried to teach you to think about strategy and tactics. To always have a plan. But there are times when you have to let all of that go.”

“I can’t let go!” she cried, trying to pull away. He held tight and didn’t let her. “I can’t let go, it’ll do something terrible—they knew that, all of them! That’s why they didn’t tell me for so long!” Tears were pouring down her face, mindscape or no mindscape, and she couldn’t seem to hold them back. “They were afraid I’d lose control, go d-dark! And _look at what I’m doing_!”

“Hope.” Nathan let her go, but took her face between his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. The look on his face was absolutely unguarded, like nothing she’d seen there before. Sadness and worry but so, so much love. She could feel his presence like a physical thing, like she was being wrapped in sunlight. 

And when he spoke again, she needed that support, because his words rocked her to the core. 

“You can’t control the Phoenix,” he said simply. “You _are_ the Phoenix. You came to us so that you’d see us as more than just pawns on a cosmic chessboard. This is something you learned from Jean. To save us, you had to know us.”

_You give real names to real girls, right? Not to pieces of the Phoenix._ It was what she’d said to Jean back in the nursery, in fear and sadness and more than a little resentment. But part of her had known it wasn’t quite right. That she was trying to define something that couldn’t be defined, not from a human perspective. 

There was no such thing as a piece of infinity. 

Hope took a deep breath, feeling almost light-headed as she stopped resisting the truth. The weight of all reality pressed in on her, and she wondered distantly how she could have failed to see it for so long. 

“No,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. Behind them, the sun broke the horizon, and it was the same colour as the flames. Light was all around them, calling to her. “No, that’s not right. I had to _love_ you.”

So many mistakes. She’d made _so_ many mistakes. Not understanding her powers, not seeing the people around her _as_ people. She had gotten lost in the knowledge that her life had a bigger purpose and failed to understand how precious, how wonderful all the lives around her truly were. 

Until she’d started to lose them. 

“You’re the Phoenix, but you’re still my girl. You can do this.” Something was breaking in Nathan’s voice, as if he was coming to the end of his strength at last. “You were born to do it. I love you, Hope.”

_Don’t stop fighting until the fight is done._ He didn’t need to say it. He had taught it to her through his actions, every moment of every day they’d had together. Hope embraced her father one last time, wishing with all she had that they could have one more day. But she had work to do. 

_What is, is._

“I love you, Nathan,” she whispered. “Live. For me.” She let go of him, of the mindscape, of her fear. 

Hope Summers stepped into the fire and let go of everything but love.

* * *

The furious barrage hammering at Strange’s shields (reinforced an instant before they could collapse by Sue Richards) died in an instant, dissolving in a shower of white sparks. The Sorcerer Supreme stumbled backwards, trying to catch his breath, and felt the terrible frozen fear in his chest melt away as the streets of Cooperstown went still and the dome rippled, red to white to pure, glowing gold. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, his heart leaping in joy. “Just like that, child.”

The air that had been so heavy and oppressive only a moment ago abruptly lightened. No, more than that: it crackled with an energy that every one of the exhausted defenders felt like strength and warmth and _hope_ pouring through them. 

The presence behind the power reached out to each of them, with special tenderness for the injured. The battle was over, it— _she_ told them. They had done it. What had been was no longer. The future was theirs again. 

 Some heard more. The X-Men and their closest allies, the ones who had been there since that terrible day when stolen cosmic power had all but extinguished a light that had never been meant to go out. 

#Thank you.# The words were an unfathomably gentle caress despite the unearthly power behind them. #Thank you for never giving up. I love you all.#

The dome exploded. Wave after wave of blinding golden light flashed across Cooperstown, across Alaska, across continents and oceans. It enveloped the globe in seconds, shining out into space with such radiance that no astral phenomenon, not even the greatest of supernovas, could have matched its brilliance.

And what the light touched, it changed. Across the face of the Earth (and every Earth in the multiverse), the very specific mutation of the girl who had been Hope Summers did the work she had been born to do. 

Mutants who had been robbed of their powers on M-Day cried out as those powers were restored in an instant. The Phoenix held each of them close, comforted them, protected them from what might have been a catastrophic re-manifestation. 

There was no pain. For any of them. 

Young people who should have manifested in the years since M-Day did. Those who would have manifested a maladaptive mutation were subtly altered, healed from the genetic level outward. Those whose powers would have manifested too forcefully, who might have been a danger to themselves and those around them were soothed, supported. Shielded. 

There were no deaths. Anywhere. 

Children and pre-teens who were years from manifestation tilted their heads at a curious sense of electric warmth as their X-gene reactivated. Babies moved in the womb, startled by the same sensation. So many babies. Countless thousands of them across the multiverse of Earths. And the Phoenix laughed in joy at this final flourish of loving defiance. 

There would be births beyond counting. More than there had been. More than there should have been by any human calculation of mutation rates. 

A new mutant life for every death.

The cage was not destroyed. It simply ceased to be as the Phoenix willed the mutant race not just back to life, but to vibrant, unparalleled health. 

It was her gift to them. There were great battles left to fight, great things to accomplish. A head start never hurt.

Every mutant everywhere, young and old, new and restored, heard her whisper a single word. 

_**Rise.** _

* * *

The light faded slowly, almost reluctantly. It dissolved, really, into what snow might have looked like if every snowflake glowed with a light of its own. That electric quality to the air lingered, and Alex took a deep breath, so shaken that for a moment he had no idea what to say. What to do. 

There were charred Shi'ar corpses everywhere. There was also considerably less left of the town than there had been when they'd started. Streaks of shimmering glass were visible here and there amidst the rubble. The Phoenix's fingerprints, he thought distantly. 

Above, just becoming visible through the dissolving light, the sky was clear, pale blue and utterly cloudless. It was like Thor's storm hadn't even happened. Alex found himself wondering how much time had passed since the Phoenix had arrived. Moments, hours? Longer? 

"... it's snowing sparkles. Why is it snowing sparkles?" The groggy words came from Tony, flat on his back in the street a few feet away. Alex shook himself and quickly moved to help him. He didn't appear to be hurt; the armour was intact, at least. "Please tell me we won," Tony grunted as Alex helped him get to his feet. 

"I think so." Once Tony seemed steady on his feet, Alex let go of him and stepped back. He felt... strange. Tired and shocky, yet vaguely exhilarated. He shook his head, telling himself to focus, and tried the coms. "This is Havok. Has anyone still got active hostiles?" Static squealed over his earpiece and he pulled it out, wincing. 

"Don't bother with that," Logan growled, limping out from the alleyway between two buildings. He was covered in ugly-looking burns, the remains of his uniform still smouldering, and Alex grimaced at the sight of him. _Looks like he got in the way of one of those fireballs._ But he was visibly healing, although he had to be in a ridiculous amount of pain. 

"Too much energy in the air," Logan went on wearily. "If most of my damned hair wasn't burned off, it'd be standing on end."

"We've got to regroup, make sure the town's clear," Tony said with a groan, one hand going to his side with a wince, as if his ribs hurt. Alex empathized. He ached all over, and he wasn't sure it was just fatigue. "I think I can get myself back in the air."

"Well, that'd be helpful," Logan quipped, not quite dryly. He sounded shaken himself, or as shaken as Logan ever managed. ”I can probably manage to yell real loud until someone answers."

Alex didn't follow them when they started to move. Someone was calling his name, like an echo in the distance. It took a long moment for him to focus through the fatigue and the disorientation to realize that it was Emma and he was hearing her with his mind, not his ears. 

Then he didn't just move; he ran.

* * *

Blinded by the light, he fell. Back to Earth, back into his battered and broken body. He heard the Phoenix’s last exultant cry as it took flight across the astral plane, but in his mind’s eye he could still see her. 

At the end, all that had had been left the faintest outline of a slender figure in white and gold, a cloud of fire around her head that had once been hair. 

She had looked back, Nathan thought desolately. Just for a moment, before she had faded into the light. 

It took him a long time to drift back to full awareness of the physical world around him. He became aware that someone had tended his injuries, given him something for the pain. It didn’t do anything for his shattered mental defences. He could sense everything. The fear and pain of the injured, the dogged focus of those working to help them. 

Farther away, bittersweet triumph. Exhausted wonder. Overwhelming relief as news trickled through restored lines of communication that the Shi’ar were either dead or fleeing. But none of it—

No. It _did_ matter. He just didn’t care about any of it. His race was run and there was nothing left. If he’d had the strength to get up and leave, he would have. But he couldn’t crawl, let alone walk. 

So he pretended to be unconscious. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Other than checking his vitals at regular intervals, they left him alone to drift. He wandered the borders of consciousness, torn between slipping back into the dark and remembering the light. Remembering her. 

_Live. For me._

But what good was a new world without her in it?


	32. Much Abides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle of Cooperstown, the X-Men and the Avengers face the new world they helped the Phoenix make.

It seemed like half the staff of the White House was finding excuses to cross his path as the aide led him towards the Oval Office. Steve supposed he couldn’t blame them for being curious. Three days ago he’d walked out of here, fired and apparently in disgrace. This morning, the Washington Post was claiming that he would be America’s top cop again by the end of the week. CNN thought it would be sooner. 

Whatever intimations the President’s chief of staff had made over the phone, Steve wasn’t going to make assumptions. He fully expected he _would_ be offered his job back. He just wasn’t sure yet how many strings would be attached. 

When he was shown into the Oval Office, the only people waiting for him were the President and one silent Secret Service agent. As the door closed softly behind him, Steve paused to give his head a brief, quizzical shake. The scene before him was all but identical to the one three days ago.

“Sir,” he said respectfully. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” was the almost absent-sounding reply as the President closed the file in front of him, handing it to the agent. “Thank you for coming. Take a seat, please.”

Steve sat, noting that the President looked utterly exhausted. Hopefully he had gotten at least some sleep. It had been just over forty-eight hours since the Phoenix had broken atmosphere and the mutant race had come roaring back from the brink of extinction, and governments worldwide were moving already. 

Most of the major Western nations had been warned ahead of time and were already offering support to their mutant citizens. The Phoenix might have pulled off its miracle with virtually no collateral damage (something that still amazed Steve whenever he stopped to think about it) but the situation it had left behind was a precarious one. According to Reed, the number of newly manifested mutants in their twenties — those who should have manifested since M-Day and hadn’t — was unprecedented. There were far more early manifestations than there should have been, too, and the brain trust was still working on why. 

Their best intel from Russia and China said that new mutants (at least those who hadn’t been able to hide their powers) were being rounded up, supposedly to receive the same support and education they were being offered elsewhere. _And if you believe that, I have some swamp land in Florida to sell you,_ Tony had snapped irritably as they'd pored over the reports. _A year from now we're going to be looking at a whole weaponized generation._ Other governments from Southeast Asia to the Middle East to Africa hadn't bothered with the facade of good intentions.

“So,” the President said almost wryly, giving him a long, measuring look. “I suppose I should ask you the obligatory question—that would be the same one from our last conversation, Steven. Do you know where the X-Men are?”

“No, sir. I don’t,” Steve said with perfect honesty. He had taken rather a lot of care to make sure that was the truth and until he had some assurances, it would stay that way. There had been elements in the government calling for direct action against the X-Men. He needed to know that those elements were firmly back on the leash. “I may be able to get a message to them, though. Did you have something you wanted them to know, sir?” he went on mildly, and didn’t respond to the flash of frustration on the President’s face. Steve wasn’t entirely without sympathy, but nor was he inclined to make this entirely easy. 

The President leaned forward, folding his hands together on the smooth wood of the desk. The frustration was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only weariness and a hint of regret. “Yes,” he said simply. “I want them to come back. I want them to know that we need them.”

Steve met the other man’s steady gaze, silent for a long moment as he mulled over what the President had said and what the seemingly innocent words might be hiding. “I’m presuming you don’t mean as a scapegoat,” he said finally, a little of his own exhaustion and anger creeping into his voice. He let it. The man probably needed to hear it.

The President smiled thinly, no amusement at all in the expression. “There’s no appetite for that. Even among the crowd you’re worried about. Everyone knows we’re facing a crisis. I’m calling on all the experts I can find, but there’s no substitute for the people who brought their race back from the edge of extinction. _They_ are the voices their fellow mutants need to hear.”

He was saying all the right things, at least. _But I’ve misjudged politicians before._ “I don’t believe they were planning to stay hidden indefinitely,” Steve said, one eyebrow going up at the way the President breathed deeply and relaxed back into his chair. “But it seemed like the safest call while the dust settled.”

The safest, but hellaciously complicated, and Steve frowned as the worry that hadn’t quite subsided nagged at him again. Some of the X-Men’s wounded had been in critical condition, with no instantaneous healing forthcoming; Josh Foley had been a casualty midway through the battle when the Imperial Guard had hit the triage area. Strange had sworn to him that he and Frost had arranged for proper medical treatment before he’d teleported the X-Men out of Cooperstown, but it had galled Steve not to take them back to the infirmary at the mansion along with his own wounded.

“It probably was.” The President grimaced, as if at a bad taste in his mouth. “A consensus has been reached that we need to work with the mutant leadership—mostly because I made it clear I was prepared to do it anyway. That’s not to say I can vouch for what some of our… less scrupulous agencies might be prepared to try behind my back. That would be why I need someone else to come back, too.” He gave Steve another one of those wry looks. “Don’t make me beg, Steven.”

After all his worrying, it seemed like there was no real decision to be made here after all. Someone needed to keep an eye on the ‘less scrupulous’, and since he didn’t want to inflict the job on any of his friends, he’d take it himself rather than see it offered to someone whose priorities weren’t in the right place. 

Steve’s lips twitched, almost involuntarily. “So what’s the story for public consumption, sir?" he asked patiently.

"Because of your expertise in superhuman affairs and your leadership in repelling the Shi'ar invasion, we're in dire need of your services. The elements within the government who pushed for your resignation have seen the error of their ways." The President gave him a faint, weary smile. "Don't be surprised if you see a few of them making the round of the morning shows justifying themselves, but don’t worry. They're playing to a particular audience."

“Of course they are.” Steve leaned back in his own chair, taking a deep breath and trying to banish some of the tension he’d carried into this conversation. He’d make this work, he told himself firmly, and he’d start by using the leverage the position gave him for all that it was worth. 

The Avengers and the X-Men would be able to face this new world much more effectively if they kept working together. If Cooperstown had taught them nothing else, it was that. 

“On a personal level,” the President said more quietly, “if you’re passing along messages, I’d like you to express both my condolences and my thanks to the X-Men. It galls me that I’ve been able to do that for the Avengers and not for them. At some point I hope to be able to rectify that.”

“I hope so too, sir,” Steve said just as softly. “They paid an even higher price than we did.”

The President nodded slowly, and they sat in a mutual, contemplative silence for a moment. “You know,” the President finally said, his words slow and deliberate and his expression oddly distant, “I’ve reviewed all the satellite footage. Several times. And every time I see that video from the Anchorage news crew of the Phoenix coming through the clouds — which is still playing every five minutes on most of the television screens in this building, by the way — I just… stop and stare. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“It was… incredible, up close,” Steve said, his voice roughening with emotion he couldn’t have defined if he’d tried. He thought it would be a long time before he found the right words. “I think the Phoenix might have been the most beautiful and terrible thing I’d ever seen.” Given some of the things he’d seen, that was saying a lot.

“We live in an age of wonders.” The President’s smile was crooked, oddly halting. Not at all the practiced politician’s smile Steve knew he was capable of mustering. As if it were the man’s real smile, struggling to emerge after years of disuse. “Maybe I should use that in my next speech.”

* * *

The beer in the fridge was some craft brew stout Logan had never heard of before, complete with fancy artwork on the label. Emma’s idea of beer, he supposed. Trust the woman to make sure her safehouse fridges weren’t stocked with anything pedestrian. Still, beer was beer and he was in dire need of one at the moment. 

“Guess Hank wins the bet,” he said, grabbing two and coming back over to sit at the kitchen table. Pointedly, he set the second bottle of beer down in front of Alex. “He said they’d be asking us to make an appearance before the end of the week.”

“Only because they need us. Their interests are better served by making nice right now, that’s all,” Alex said, slouching wearily in his chair. He rubbed at his unshaven jaw, eyeing the beer for a dubious moment before he reached for the bottle. 

Probably worried that it’d go straight to his head and he’d wind up snoring on the table, Logan reflected. “Might as well take advantage,” he pointed out. “Make some progress while everyone’s making nice.” 

“Still, we shouldn’t forget that this is just a respite,” Alex went on flatly, sipping mechanically at the beer. “The knife’s going to come from somewhere. Got to keep our eyes open.” At another time it might have sounded like exhausted paranoia. Right now, Logan only wished he could disagree.

“Business as usual,” he offered instead, and Alex grunted in agreement. They drank in silence for a while, Logan watching Alex, Alex giving the opposite wall a textbook example of the thousand-yard stare. Eventually the sound of kids squabbling in the hall broke the quiet. Since they were his kids, Logan excused himself to go deal with it. 

It took a while. Julian and Santo had both been on edge since the battle, and Logan wound up sending them out to get some fresh air and walk it off, “in opposite directions, you hear me?” he stressed, glaring hard at both of them. They went, but Julian shot a mutinous look back over his shoulder as he did. It promised more trouble ahead, clear as day.

He didn’t have the energy to think about it right now. When he stepped back into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see Alex slumped even farther in his chair, snoring softly. The beer bottle was starting to slide from his grip, and Logan caught it before it could hit the floor. His lips twitched in a brief, weary smile as he saw how little of it was missing. 

“Lightweight,” he muttered fondly and left him to sleep, grabbing his own beer before he went.

The safehouse was a big one, meant to keep upward of forty people fed and housed if you really packed them in. Five of the bedrooms were fully equipped medical suites, and they were all in use. The critically injured had been treated at a private hospital in Mexico, but as soon as it was safe to move them they’d been teleported back here. The hospital hadn’t been defensible, and like hell were they risking losing anyone else to opportunistic bigots. This was their version of circling the wagons, Logan supposed. 

In the last of those five rooms, he found Emma right where she’d been earlier: sitting beside the bed and holding one of Scott’s hands in both of hers as if she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

“Frost,” Logan greeted her briefly, then turned his attention to Scott. “Your brother decided to take a nap in the kitchen. Guess Lorna doesn’t have to follow through with drugging his coffee.”

“Good,” was the weak reply, the whisper hitching in mid-sentence. “He… looked like h-hell earlier.”

“That makes two of you,” Logan said, grimacing as he mulled over Scott’s scent. “Infection?” he asked Emma bluntly. There was something off, something new since last night, and Scott looked pale and drawn in a way that wasn’t at all good. Even the chirp of the monitors sounded unhappy. 

“Kavita has him on enough antibiotics to choke a horse,” she murmured. Her eyes were locked on Scott. “I’ll be down in a little while, Logan.”

Logan nodded, but didn’t leave. Instead he came in, pulling up a chair beside hers and sitting down. “You know,” he said after a moment (and a long swig of beer), “I’m still sorely tempted to kick your ass, Summers. If you didn’t look so damned pitiful I’d go ahead and do it anyway.”

Emma’s head whipped towards him, blue eyes blazing almost murderously in her pale face. The hair on the back of Logan’s neck prickled and he braced himself, but the telepathic blast he was expecting never came. Emma’s eyes narrowed and she deliberately turned her attention back to Scott.

Logan took it as understanding—and encouragement. “Just because the battle’s over doesn’t mean you get to check out and leave us to do all the work,” he went on, meeting Scott’s eyes levelly. “You’re not goddamned Moses, so don’t play the martyr.” That earned him a grimace, but he didn’t let it stop him. “I mean, flatlining on the operating table? Little over the top, no?”

“If… you make me laugh, I will blast you. In the head.” But the ghost of a smile that accompanied the words crumpled into something much more pained and Scott looked away, his breathing laboured and the muscles in his jaw clenching as he stared up at the ceiling. 

Logan smelled tears from the woman sitting beside him, and very carefully did not look in that direction. “You need to start thinking about what happens next,” he said to Scott. “We all have to figure out where we go from here. I suppose I’ve got a school to rebuild.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew there was no ‘suppose’ about it. That was his answer—the school. He might be a sorry excuse for a role model at the best of times, but the school was where he needed to be, the only place he _wanted_ to be anymore. 

The idea of sitting around a table with what was left of the X-Men was too much to bear. Somehow he knew he would only ever be able to see the empty chairs. 

“That’s… good. We need schools,” Scott was saying faintly. “Nathan… said that too. Back on Utopia. That there’d be a time when we needed… lots of schools.” He swallowed visibly, and there were tears leaking around the edges of his glasses. “We need… we need _Charles_ so much right n-now, and I killed him—“

Emma leaned closer to the bed, raising a hand to stroke Scott’s hair. “This is ours to do,” she murmured, her voice soft and clear despite the tears that slid down her pale cheeks. “Ours. We won’t forget them, any of them, but we have to move forward. We have to go on living. For them.”

“I guess… first thing I need to do is g-get out of this bed, then.” Scott sucked in a sharp breath, a noise escaping him that was caught halfway between a laugh and a grunt of pain as his hand tightened on Emma’s. His scent flared, hot and acrid with pain, and Logan tried not to wince. “Maybe… not just yet.”

“Should probably wait until none of your insides are threatening to fall out when you move,” Logan commented, raising an eyebrow as Scott looked at him. “Tends to be messy,” he went on evenly. “Wouldn’t go well with the decor downstairs.”

“Drink your damned… beer, Logan,” Scott shot back weakly. “Stop trying to be f-funny. Listening to you… more painful than the stab wound.”

“Should I leave the two of you alone?” Emma asked crossly, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “I get the sense you’ve missed whispering sweet insults into each other’s ears.”

* * *

After a week back in New York, the consensus was that someone needed to step in. Grieving was one thing, but what Nathan was doing was more like flirting with catatonia. They’d all agreed that if they left him to come out of it on his own time it might never happen, Summers stubbornness being what it was. 

It would have been best coming from Scott, Dani knew, but he still wasn’t up to doing much more than walking across the room, let alone tackling the immovable wall of grief that was his son. Emma had intended to try, but Hank had needed her in Washington today (something having to do with a Senate subcommittee) so Dani had offered to take a kick at the can. 

She’d be joining them in Washington tomorrow — Emma had made her an offer Dani still couldn’t quite believe had come from the White Queen’s mouth — but she owed Hope too much to leave without at least trying to help her father. As she climbed the steps to the upper level of Emma’s penthouse, which had been serving as an unofficial home base for the X-Men while they were in the city, Dani opened her mind wide. 

Scott was tucked away in the master bedroom, sleeping soundly. He still felt ashy-grey and exhausted, worn to a shadow—resting, though, which was what mattered. He was finally over the infection, if not before he’d scared the crap out of them by landing back in the ICU. Dani decided that she would go in and sit with him for a while once she was done with Nathan. Just to make sure he _was_ properly on the mend and not simply putting on a good show of it. 

There was a tray of food, pointedly untouched, sitting on a little antique table just outside Nathan’s door. Dani regarded it for a moment, her eyes narrowing. According to Emma, he’d been making a habit of that. Picking up the tray, she balanced it on one arm to leave a hand free for a perfunctory knock on the door before she opened it and walked in.

“Not eating isn’t solving anything, you know,” she said and set the tray on the dresser. 

Nathan was slumped in a chair by the window, doing his best to ignore her existence. He looked like he should still be in bed—felt like it, too. It wasn’t just depression and grief darkening the gold of his presence to a wan amber, but physical pain as well. 

Not really a surprise, Dani thought, folding her arms across her chest as she studied him. He’d been beaten to hell and still looked it, even a week later. His arm was in a cast and immobilized in one of those slings you only wore if you’d wrecked your shoulder too, and Dani had broken enough ribs in her life to recognize the shallow, careful way he was breathing. The concussion he’d suffered hadn’t been too bad, Hank had said, but it probably wasn’t helping with the depression.

“I know pain meds don’t help with the appetite,” Dani went on when he said nothing. She sat down on the edge of the neatly made bed to keep watching him. Funny that he’d opened the curtains instead of brooding in the dark. The bright sunlight from the window was unforgiving; the dark circles beneath his eyes looked like bruises and she could see every line of pain etched into his face. “I mean, presuming you’re taking them.”

Nothing. He stared out at New York as if she wasn’t even there, and Dani scowled. Touching his mind with her powers was like touching an open wound, and the longer she was this close to him, the more she understood why Emma and Betsy had been so worried.

“You were there with Hope at the end,” she said finally. “You helped her… pull herself together.” Might as well aim right at the target; he knew why she was here. Dani shook her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his face. “So that makes… what, twice you saved the world that day?” she asked, remembering the angry red of the Phoenix’s light as the dome of fire exploded. 

“She was at peace,” Nathan said, his voice rusty. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, wincing in pain. “At the end. She knew there was no coming back, but she didn’t let that stop her.” His good hand shook as he raised it to rub at his eyes. “My daughter to the last. Poor Hope. I suppose all those years with no one but me for a role model made it inevitable.”

Tears abruptly welled up in Dani’s eyes, tears anger as much as sorrow. It was so damned unfair, all of this. But she blinked the tears back doggedly, knowing that now wasn’t the time to give in to her own emotions. All she could do for the girl who’d given her back her life was to try and help the people she’d left behind. 

And of course Nathan wasn’t going to make it easy on either of them. Dani was glad to see it. Meant that there was still some life left in him. 

“I’m going to punch you if you don’t stop that,” she said bluntly. Nathan actually twitched, his shadowed presence flickering with some brighter emotion for a moment. Frustration. She could taste it, like bitter lemon, and her eyes narrowed. “Want me to go away?” she asked sharply. “Too bad. That might have worked on Scott. Easy for you of all people to hit him in the guilt. Frost would probably have laughed in your face and needled you until she got an honest reaction. I don’t feel like playing that game.”

“What do you want, Dani?” He met her gaze squarely, as if he’d accepted the necessity of engaging with her and just wanted to get it over with. “What do you need from me? Tell me, really. Because I don’t think this world has asked enough of me. I’m sure I’ve still got _something_ left to give.”

His bitterness all but scalded her. Dani tilted her head, regarding him through narrowed eyes as she tried to sort out the tangled mess of desires her powers sensed in him. In the end, she could only follow her instincts. “What,” she said, quietly but forcefully, “did _Hope_ want that makes you so angry?”

Nathan actually rocked backwards in his chair, as if she’d hit him. The grey gaze that had been flatly defiant a moment ago wavered and fell, but breaking eye contact didn’t hide anything. Dani could feel the desolation sweep over him like a black riptide, trying to pull him under. 

She was out of her chair like a shot, moving towards him without making the conscious decision to do so; it was that or let that tidal wave of loss drown her, too. Careful of his injuries, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as she dared. He didn’t pull away, but she could feel him resisting the comfort she was trying to offer. Too damned strong for his own good, even now. 

“She gave me back all those years when she healed me,” Nathan said, his voice low and raw. “So that I could see her grow. Fall in love. Have a life. Instead I get to live them without her. _Have_ to live them without her, because that was what she wanted.” He gave a short, despairing laugh. “I know she saved us, Dani, and I’m so proud of her. So proud. But all I wanted, all I ever really wanted, was to save _her_.”

* * *

Fresh air and paperwork. Not quite the cure for what ailed him, but it would do for now. Scott smiled faintly as he called up another file on the tablet Emma had given him before she’d steered him out to the balcony to sit in the afternoon sun for a while. Her orders had been explicit: he was to sit precisely where she’d put him, sort through these applications, and nothing else.

The mother hen act wasn’t like her at all. But he’d frightened her badly, Scott knew, and she didn’t like having to be away from him as much as she had been this last week or so. 

She and Hank had hit the ground running, coping deftly with the public and political fallout of Cooperstown. When she hadn’t been charming or intimidating reporters and politicians, she had been recruiting donors. Even Emma’s own considerable resources, freed from the need to fund Utopia, weren’t enough to launch the sort of outreach programs they were going to badly need in the months and years ahead. Reed, Stark, T’Challa—all of them had offered help without needing to be asked, but even that wasn’t enough. 

 They had the privilege of planning for the long term again. It was a very foreign feeling. Right now, in the shape he was still in, there wasn’t much he could to help _but_ the paperwork, so Scott had resolved to do it as cheerfully as he could. 

Besides, it wasn’t so bad. Reading all these earnest emails from people who wanted to work for the revived X-Corporation was a surprisingly effective distraction from his own thoughts. The diversity among the applicants was interesting. Many were experienced NGO workers, but others were kids fresh out of college. Quite a few were repowered mutants, but there were more baseline humans interested in the job than he would have imagined. 

Many seemed to have had some sort of… spiritual experience when the Phoenix-wave had swept the globe. There was a palpable awe between the lines of those letters, plus a weirdly giddy desire to get out there and do what was necessary to help the mutant race get back on its feet. Scott frowned at the latest example of the latter, not sure why it made him so uneasy. Except maybe that with their luck, whatever it was would wear off suddenly a few months down the line.

 Engrossed as he was, he didn’t miss the sound of the door behind him opening. He glanced back over his shoulder, expecting it to be Emma coming out to join him. It wasn’t, and he mustered up a faint smile for Steve as the other man stepped out onto the balcony. 

“Afternoon,” Steve said with a quick smile of his own. “You definitely look better than you did the last time I saw you.” He settled into one of the empty chairs, his eyes narrowing as he studied Scott more carefully. “Much better,” he confirmed, sounding satisfied.

“I should hope so. When was that?” Scott paused, frowning slightly. “Cooperstown?” he asked slowly, wishing that he remembered. Losing whole days bothered him, especially at a time like this. 

“No, the hospital here. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were more or less delirious at the time.” Steve relaxed into the deep cushions of the chair with a barely suppressed sigh, and Scott couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. “What a week. I think this is the first time I’ve sat down since yesterday.”

It had been all over the news for the last week that Commander Rogers was back on the job. Most of the reports had come with a strong undertone of _thank you God, we’re saved—never leave us again, Cap!_ Scott still wasn’t sure whether to offer his congratulations or his condolences. 

So he did neither. “Question?” he ventured after a moment. Steve nodded. “What happened to Bishop?” He’d asked once, days ago when he’d still been feverish, and Emma had told him to stop worrying. He ought to have followed up on the matter before now. 

“He’s alive,” Steve said promptly, although he was watching Scott carefully, as if assessing his reaction. “In a cell in one of SHIELD’s more secure facilities. I need to ask Emma for some help with interrogation when she can free up some time. He’s the only intel source on the Raptors we’ve got left.”

Scott nodded slowly. The Imperium itself was in chaos, with rival claimants duking it out over the throne. From Earth’s point of view, that was ideal; enmeshed in their own problems, the Shi’ar were unlikely to turn their attention back to the Sol system anytime soon. But the Raptors, if any of them were left… they were another matter entirely. They had to figure out a way to see them coming, Scott thought bleakly. To make sure they didn’t burrow into the minds of any more friends and allies and turn them into monsters…

“Scott.” Steve’s voice was quiet, but firm enough to jar him out of the grim reverie. The look in his eyes had changed, become more kind than measuring. “How are you doing, really?”

 Scott was silent for a moment. “Better than I should be,” he said just as quietly, a faint flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. “I did sort of expect Bishop to kill me. If we’re being honest.”

Seeing Bishop that close to Hope, he’d known the man must have had Raptor help to get that far. Closing with him had been a thoroughly stupid thing to do — hand-to-hand, Bishop had always had the edge, and his mutation might as well have been designed to make Scott’s useless in a fight — but Scott had been sure he could at least buy Hope the chance to get away. Part of him had been… relieved, really, that it had come down to that sort of choice. That he was finally the one being called on to pay the price. 

“He came close,” Steve pointed out, and Scott frowned at the mix of anger and guilt underlying the words. Surely Steve didn’t blame himself for any of what had happened on that street. _Because I sure as hell_ would _be dead if he hadn’t gotten there when he did._

Whatever it was, Steve shook it off almost immediately, his shoulders squaring as he gave Scott a long look with more than a hint of challenge to it. “Are you unhappy that he didn’t finish the job?”

It was a fair question. Emma had asked him the same thing a few days ago, and he took a careful deep breath and gave Steve the same answer he’d given her. “There’s a part of me that wonders why I’m here and so many of my friends aren’t. Not quite the same thing.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “Just survivor’s guilt.” He let his breath out on a sigh, shaking his head. “I know a little something about that.”

“I imagine you do. But I’ll be all right. Have to be, really. There’s too much to do.” He was just having a hell of a time mustering up the energy to be enthusiastic about any of it. 

Scott grimaced down at the tablet in his lap, wishing… hell, he wasn’t even sure what. That he could walk across a room without feeling like his gut was on fire. That Ororo was here to talk to. That Nathan would talk to anyone. 

“Since you brought it up, this isn’t entirely a social visit,” Steve said after a moment. When Scott looked back at him, he was smiling a little—encouragingly, Scott thought, and wondered if he looked like he needed it that badly. “I was hoping to find out what your plans were.”

Scott frowned. “Haven’t you been talking to Emma and Hank?” he asked, surprised. “I thought they were keeping you updated on what they were doing.” 

“On _their_ plans, yes. I’m asking about yours.” Steve inclined his head at the tablet, donning an almost deadpan expression. “I somehow doubt that ‘executive assistant to Ms. Frost’ is a permanent career choice.”

Scott nearly choked on a laugh that turned into a wince as he pressed one hand to his bandages. “Ow—God, no. My masculinity is challenged enough by being a kept man,” he said, and was oddly tickled to see Steve grin back at him. There hadn’t been much to laugh at lately. 

“Well, I’ve got a solution to _that_ , if you want. Come work for me.” Scott’s eyebrows jerked upwards in surprise, and Steve let out a snort of laughter of his own. “You know, you’re not really as hard to read as I used to think you were. Did you honestly not think this was coming?” 

“I—“ Scott told himself not to finish that sentence and closed his mouth. At the back of his mind, he thought he heard Emma laughing softly. “Working for _who_ , exactly?” he finally asked, his lips twitching helplessly in an answering smile. “You do wear a couple of hats. I’m not sure how comfortable I would be working for the American government.”

“I know,” Steve said more seriously. “I’m not asking this as Commander Rogers. This is an invitation to join the Avengers—to you, and whatever X-Men want to come with you.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes locked on Scott’s and a surprising amount of passion in his voice as he went on. “The government ties aren’t as tight as you think. The key is to make them work to your advantage, and I see lots of advantages here for your team. It’s not easy to bring about real change from the outside, Scott. Having one foot inside the system means you can fight the battles that need fighting there, too.”

Scott opened his mouth, but closed it before the instinctive protest could find its way out. “Emma and Hank are doing that,” he said instead, and knew it for a weak counterargument. “The political end of things.”

“Which is right and necessary, but not what I’m talking about. Imagine being able to go after a Sentinel factory with minimal blowback. Operating as part of the Avengers could give you that, and more.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “And what if it’s an American Sentinel factory?” he asked dryly. “How does that change the equation?” 

Steve didn’t bat an eye. “Then the Avengers who happen to be mutants are joined by the ones who aren’t, and we smash the place flat together.” Scott couldn’t manage to keep the surprised skepticism off his face, but Steve shook his head and continued in that same uncompromising tone. “Scott, yesterday I held a signed executive order saying that the American government will not engage in the production of anti-mutant weaponry and will not fund any research program meant to weaponize mutants. Which means that if I find any Sentinels on American soil, they go up in smoke. Literally.”

“That’s all well and good,” Scott said, not sure whether to frown or smile. He sort of felt like doing both. “But they’re going to do this work regardless. You know that. Whether it’s sanctioned or not, it’s ‘when’, not ‘if’.” The sun would rise in the east tomorrow, and by the end of the month, half the governments in the world would be back to making mutants’ lives miserable.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” Steve smiled wryly. “You’re preaching to the choir. I expect to have to stomp on all kinds of rogue programs, and I said as much to the President. If it’s any consolation, he looked a little pained.”  
 Scott stared at him for a long moment. “Just how much crap can you get away with by waving your shield around? I’ve always wondered…”

Steve laughed, a gleam of real humour in his eyes. “There are limits. But it’s easier than it used to be. Apparently you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.”

Scott shook his head, looking skyward for a moment as if he’d find the right words there. “I’m honoured by the invitation,” he said finally. “I really am. Don’t doubt that for a moment. I just don’t know how I feel about… hiding behind the Avengers name.” He glanced back at Steve quizzically. “Do mutants somehow become socially acceptable when you slap the right letter on our uniforms?”

“I’m not naive, Scott. I don’t want you to be tokens and this isn’t lip service. All I want to give the best person for the job the sort of support structure to do the work that needs doing.” Steve gazed steadily at him. “One foot inside the system. Conditions to be amended whenever that turns out to be more of a burden than a blessing.” 

“Hypothetically speaking… what sort of command structure did you have in mind?” Scott asked reluctantly. Apparently he was entertaining this. He could already hear the howls from some of his more militant teammates.

“A significant degree of autonomy,” Steve said promptly. “This wouldn’t work without it. I hate to sound cynical, but the optics wouldn’t be good.” The smile that accompanied the words was more than a little sardonic, but it was gone again as quickly as it had come and Steve went on almost conversationally. “Practically speaking, I’d need regular consultation. Details on anything you plan to blow up before the actual explosions take place. I’d want us to be on the same page when it comes to broader strategy.”

“You’d call us in for global-level threats, I’m assuming?” Steve nodded, and Scott forced himself to relax against the cushions. To think, instead of just react. There were very few people in this world he’d willingly take orders from, and Steve was definitely on that very short list. Still, this would be a _very_ big change. 

“Where’s the benefit in this for the Avengers?” he asked, oddly frustrated at the calm way Steve was regarding him. “There is no way this doesn’t blow back on you in all kinds of awkward ways. You’d probably be hurting your own team’s public image—“

“The good opinion of those who would think less of us for fighting alongside your people means absolutely nothing to me, Scott.” Steve’s gaze locked on his, nothing but absolute certainty there. “This is past due,” he went on more quietly. “If we can fight beside each other when the fate of the world is at stake, we can do it every other day of the year, too.”

“Change doesn’t come easy,” Scott muttered, not looking away. “But it has to come, doesn’t it?” Somewhere, the Phoenix was smiling. _I learned that lesson, Jean. Believe me._

“Governments are there to serve their people, Scott. _All_ their people. You’ve seen them fail at that, time and time again. But right now, our government is promising to do better,” Steve said. “Don’t you owe it to yourself to be one of the people holding them to that promise?” 

It wouldn’t be easy. Sellouts, tokens, dupes—Scott could hear the accusations already. But there was potential, too. If they could make it work, silence the naysayers, they could do good things. Important things. 

Yes, there would be compromises, but that had been inevitable. They weren’t driven by the simple need to survive anymore. Now they had to make a place for themselves in the new world they’d helped create, and that was going to take creativity. Creativity and the courage to do something entirely new if the situation called for it. 

It all came down to trust. Did he trust the man sitting across from him? After the events of the last several weeks, after the faith Steve had put in Hope and in the X-Men, Scott knew there wasn’t any answer to that question that didn’t start and end with _yes_. 

“You don’t have to answer me right now,” Steve murmured, although there was a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Talk to Emma. Talk to your team. We have time.”

Scott nodded, managing a slightly awkward smile, and the conversation shifted to other things for a few minutes—small talk, or as close to it as the two of them could manage. Eventually Steve excused himself, saying he had to get back to Avengers Tower. Scott promised to get back to him soon, thanking him again for the offer. 

It really was one _hell_ of an offer. Scott stared blankly into empty air, mulling it all over. Whatever he decided, he told himself, he owed Steve a separate thank-you for making him think about the future. _His_ future, not just the future of mutantkind. He hadn’t been doing that, and it probably wasn’t healthy.

It wasn’t long before the door behind him was opening again. This time it was Emma, a wine glass in one hand and an odd little smile playing on her lips. She settled in the chair Steve had vacated, her knowing gaze locked on him as she took a sip of her wine. 

Scott shook his head at her, his lips twitching in a helpless smile. “Do you want to be an Avenger?” 

“Hardly, darling. In fact, I think it’s best if I stay out of the field entirely at this point. I have far too much to do.” Emma set the glass carefully on the table beside her, giving him that keen, too-bright smile she always got when he was being particularly slow about something. “Besides, the question at hand is whether _you_ want to be an Avenger.”

“Not particularly. But I’m thinking it might be useful if I were.” Scott set the tablet aside, out of the way. “You know, I was half-afraid when he started talking that what he had in mind was some sort of… PR thing. The Avengers Unity Squad,” he said more dryly. “I would have expected something like that six months ago.”

“And now?”

“Now, I think he’s doing his absolute best to see things through our eyes. Doing a pretty decent job of it, too.” Scott sighed and shifted awkwardly in his chair, one hand going back to his bandages. “He’s such a ridiculously good man, you know. Giving us a license to operate with minimal oversight would be like painting a target on his back. They’d tear him to shreds for it.”

“Maybe he’s willing to risk it. Or maybe,” Emma mused, “he trusts you to watch his back.” Scott raised an eyebrow and she folded her arms across her chest, regarding him with a sort of amused tolerance. “You think he’s a good man. He thinks the same of you. Oh, he _also_ thinks you could be dangerously unpredictable if you put your mind to it,” she added with a sly little smile, “but that’s not a bad thing. It will keep him on his toes if you decide to take him up on his offer.”

The sudden rush of warmth he felt had nothing to do with the sunlight. Scott ignored the brief stab of pain in his gut and reached out for Emma’s hand.

 She reached back, and although the little smile was still playing on her lips, her eyes were far softer. “You do need to find _something_ to do, darling.”

“Getting tired of me sitting around the house?”

“You’ll be climbing the walls as soon as you’re physically capable of doing so. Best to have a plan that involves something you feel is worth doing.” There was a flicker of profound sadness in her mental touch. “We’ve lost so many, Scott. There’s no rebuilding the X-Men as they were.”

They would only break their hearts trying. She was right and he knew it. Pretending those empty places at the table weren’t there would only make them more obvious, more painful. The only logical course of action was to build something new.

“We need some revolutionary thinking,” he admitted with a pained smile.

They’d lost so much. So many people who should be here and weren’t. There’d been moments since Cooperstown that he hadn’t known how they would go on, hadn’t seen a way forward. How could they possibly rebuild their lives when so many of those who’d made those lives worth living were gone? 

But there was so much left to live for, Scott told himself fiercely. The chance to see his people rise again. The hope of someday seeing his son smile again. And the woman sitting across from him. 

They were alive. Everything else was negotiable. 

 

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
We are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.  
\- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ‘Ulysses’

 

**the end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who’ve kept reading along with this fic (which took far longer than I ever anticipated to finish)—your comments have kept me plugging away through writer’s block and sundry other distractions. I hope the ending was worth the wait. 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas: Domenika, who’s been there since the beginning and who has made the story infinitely better with her feedback, and Technosagery, who’s provided an invaluable second perspective and constantly helpful comments for the last eighty thousand words or so. Not everyone is blessed with betas who can see both the forest and the trees (and tell you what needs chopping down or replanting), but I certainly have been.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sixty Guilders of Beads against the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/896811) by [technosagery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/technosagery/pseuds/technosagery)




End file.
